


Getting With the Program

by theletterelle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Crack Treated Seriously, Discipline Relationships, F/M, M/M, No Hale Fire, Nonsexual Punishment, Slow Build, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:29:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1756355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theletterelle/pseuds/theletterelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College is going to be <i>awesome</i>. Except that Stiles' dad and Scott's mom kept them both enrolled in the discipline program, even after high school. And that Stiles can't seem to control his mouth around their model-gorgeous suitemate. And that his new disciplinarian is a scary, scary man who may literally kill him the first time he screws up. But aside from that? <i>Awesome.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU, the age of consent is 18, but the age of majority is 21. From ages 13-18, teens are required to enroll in the city's or town's mandatory discipline program. After 18, the program is optional at the discretion of the parent. (This is cracky. Don't like? Don't read.)

"Little help here?" Scott braced in the bedroom doorway against the box that was threatening to crush him. 

“Hang on,” Stiles said, dashing over to grab the box. Scott let it go with a sigh of relief. Stiles promptly lost his balance, dropped it, and fell over. “Ow. What did you pack, anvils?" He got up and ripped it open. "Sheets." He looked up at Melissa. "This is kind of a lot of sheets."

"I'm pretty sure you guys aren't going to be doing laundry once a week. But at least change your sheets, okay?" She looked sternly at both of them. "Every week. I'm not kidding."

"We will," Scott assured her. She didn't look convinced. "We totally will," added Stiles.

Melissa sighed and folded her arms. "Okay. I'm choosing to believe you. And remember to clean. I'm not going to demand that you vacuum every week, but at least clean the shower and toilet. That's not too much to ask, is it?"

"Absolutely not," Stiles said. "We get it. Clean once a week."

"And shower," Dad put in. "Every day."

" _God_ , Dad, we're not five." Stiles rolled his eyes.

Melissa sighed. "You wouldn't know it some days." She looked around the bedroom-- two twin beds, a blanket and pillow thrown haphazardly on the floor, cardboard boxes piled against the wall. She sniffled.

"Hey," said Scott. He crossed the room and took her in his arms. "Hey Mom, don't cry."

"I just can't believe I'm bringing my baby to college. I remember when you started kindergarten and didn't want to leave me behind." She sniffled again and wiped her eyes.

"Mom." Scott let her go. "It's okay. It's going to be fine. I'm only six hours away. We can drive home for weekends."

"You're seven and a half hours away, kid." Dad put an arm around Stiles and pointed at him. "If I find out you went ninety all the way, I’m going to report it. Don't think you're getting off light just because you're in college now."

" _Dad_. Let's keep that to ourselves, okay?" Stiles stuck his head into the shared living room/kitchenette to make sure their suitemates hadn’t arrived yet.

"I just want you to realize how serious we are about this,” Dad said.

"I know, God, Dad, I _know._ I think the extra program year we got made that pretty damn clear.”

"Not clear enough, as it turns out," Melissa said, looking hard at Scott.

"This sucks," grumbled Scott.

Melissa raised an eyebrow. "If you two had ever managed to go a month without a spanking since you were fourteen--"

" _Mom_." Scott looked horrified. "Mom, shut up, please."

"Dad?" Stiles put on his most innocent face.

John shook his head. "Last week, Stiles. Last week, for the love of God."

"I wish you'd just trust us," said Stiles. John and Melissa looked at each other and burst out laughing. Stiles felt like his eyes were going to roll out of his head. "Okay, okay, we get it. Fine, whatever." He thumped down onto the bed. He knew he was being childish, but dammit, they were treating him like a child. It wasn't fair. It was optional; they didn't have to take the damn option.

Dad sat down beside him. "Hey, kiddo," he said. "It's only another two years. And if your behavior improves, we can see about ending it early."

"I'm nineteen," Stiles muttered.

Dad sighed. "Then quit acting like you're sixteen. No more cutting class. No more fake IDs. No more planting bugs in innocent peoples’ apartments because you think they’re part of a marijuana cartel. That’s all I ask.”

“Yeah, yeah." Stiles sighed. Dad put his arm around him and hugged him. "You know I love you, right?” said Dad. “We both do."

Stiles leaned into it. "I know."

"We just want what's best for you."

"Yeah." Stiles sighed again.

Melissa tousled Scott's hair. "You're going to make us proud." Scott ducked away from her, but he was grinning. Melissa smiled back. "Come here." She reached out and pulled Scott into her arms again. "Oh sweetie. I'm going to miss you so much."

"I'll miss you too, Mom," said Scott. He hugged her back hard. "Don't worry. We're going to be fine."

Melissa bit her lip. "Don't forget to change your sheets."

"We won't. We'll text you pics," Scott said. Stiles looked aghast and smacked him in the shoulder.

"Good idea. I'm going to put that in both your files." Dad gave them each a warning stare. "Which are still open until I transfer them to your new disciplinarian and he closes them out on my end, by the way. That better be soon. I want to see those files gone by the time orientation ends."

"Sir, yes sir." Stiles saluted. "Okay, we got it, you'll miss us and we won't goof around. Now, you have a long drive to go, so you better get started. Bye, we love you, bye now." He pushed his dad out of the bedroom and toward the suite’s door.

Melissa hugged Stiles on her way out. "Be good," she whispered in his ear. Ahead of them, Dad hugged Scott.

"I will," Stiles said. "We both will, okay? Don't worry. We're gonna be fine, I promise."

After another five minutes of hugs, shooing, more hugs, and more shooing, Melissa and Dad finally left. “Finally,” Stiles said. “If I had to promise to be good one more time, I was going to stab someone in the eye.” He flopped down onto Scott’s bed. “Unpack the XBox and the TV.”

Just as they got the XBox hooked up, there was a knock at the suite door. Stiles jumped up to get it, skidded on the linoleum floor of the kitchenette, and slammed into the door. “I’m okay,” he called to Scott, and managed to open the door without braining himself. And oh. God. Standing there was literally the most gorgeous guy Stiles had ever seen. Dark hair, deep brown eyes, _dimples_ for the love of God...

"Hey," said Gorgeous. He held up his duffle bag. “Can I come in?” 

“Uh,” said Stiles. “I, uh, yeah sure, if you want.” 

Gorgeous gave him a quizzical look. “I’m supposed to live here.”

He was going to live here. Holy shit. “That’s… great. Yeah. Awesome, all right, come in, hey Scotty, our suitemates are here!” 

“Just me. My roommate's not coming till tomorrow. He's still saying goodbye." Gorgeous grinned. "Fucking Greenberg, man. I’m Danny Mahealani.”

It took Stiles a second to realize the hand was out there to shake. “Stilinski. Stiles. Stiles is kind of a nickname, my real name is weird and bizarre. No one can pronounce it, much less spell it, but you probably get that too.” Scott elbowed him. Stiles panicked. “Not that your name is weird or anything. Just hard to spell, probably, although it sounds a lot easier to say--”

Scott shoved his way in front of Stiles, which thank _God_ , because the next thing that came out of Stiles’ mouth would probably ensure that Gorgeous Danny never wanted to look at him again. Stiles had that effect on people.

"We took the top two drawers in the bathroom, if that's cool,” Scott was saying. “And the top shelf in the refrigerator."

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Danny smiled, and Stiles decided to just die basking in that smile. “All right, let me start hauling my stuff in.”

"Want help?" Stiles asked. It didn't matter that he was a hundred and fifty pounds with absolutely no muscle tone. He could do it.

"I'm good," Danny said, flashing white teeth in a brilliant smile. “But maybe you wanna order pizza?”

“Yeah, sounds great!” Scott said.

“Great!” said Stiles.

Danny left, and Scott and Stiles looked at each other. 

“Jesus Christ,” said Stiles.

“Yeah,” said Scott. “Hell, _I’d_ tap that.”

“Dude, no offense, but you’re nowhere near hot enough to tap that.” Stiles stared at the spot where Danny had been.

Scott nodded. “Fair enough. Wanna go get your ass kicked at GTA?”

“Bring it on, little man-- oh, shit. No.” Stiles shook his head. “We should unpack.”

Scott looked at him with his head cocked to the side. “Dude,” said Stiles. “We promised. And I don’t want to have to explain any…” He gestured wildly.

“Weirdness,” said Scott.

“Exactly,” said Stiles. “Yes.”

Scott nodded. “I’ll get the scissors.”


	2. Chapter 2

Scott frowned down at the campus map. "I still don't see it."

Stiles looked over his shoulder. "Well, we're here," he said, pointing at the dorm they'd highlighted down in the corner. "It's G. I don't see G on here. Oh wait, it's not its own building." He frowned. "It's in Student Services. That has to be a joke."

"That's a terrible joke," said Scott.

"The worst," agreed Stiles.

Scott folded up the map. "We better go, I guess. It's only open till 5 today."

"This is so not fair," Stiles said, flinging open the door to see Greenberg pulling a pizza out of the freezer. "Uh. Greenberg. Hey."

"What's not fair?" asked Greenberg.

"Um, y'know," Stiles said, edging toward the door and thinking frantically. "Cost of textbooks. Like, who has a hundred bucks to pay for Basics of Geology, right? It's a total racket. I researched scholastic publishing companies; did you know only three publishers have like 95% of the market? It's a total monopoly. Except for there's three. A tri-opoly?"

"Okay," said Greenberg, losing interest and turning his attention to the microwave.

"Good save," said Scott as they ran down the stairs.

"You know me. Vast stores of random knowledge." They left the building and Stiles looked up and down the sidewalk. "Which way?"

"Left," said Scott with assurance, and it wasn't until they'd been walking for fifteen minutes that they figured out they should have gone right. They arrived at the Student Services building sweaty and out of breath. Stiles could do nothing but glare at Scott, who puffed on his inhaler and gave an apologetic shrug back.

The discipline wing wasn't hard to find. It was blocked off with frosted glass, the door solid and, they discovered, locked. There was a slot for a keycard, but neither of them had one. Stiles raised his fist and knocked tentatively, glancing around to be sure no one noticed. He stood with his back against the door, looking unconcerned, until the door opened and he fell in.

Scott followed him and automatically held out a hand to help him up. Stiles pulled himself to his feet and found himself facing a murderer.

Okay, maybe not a murderer. Probably not. But he looked like he'd gladly kill them both with his eyebrows. "You know we close in half an hour, right?"

"Uh, yeah." Stiles fought to keep his voice from squeaking. "Sorry. We got lost, kind of. We're new. I guess you know that. Or maybe not, but you can probably tell. It's not really our fault, the map was--"

"Who are you?" Murderbrows interrupted.

"Stilinski. Uh, don't worry about the first name. Stiles is fine. Just Stiles."

"Scott McCall," said Scott, edging a little behind Stiles. Stiles nudged him back out.

Murderbrows looked down at the tablet he was carrying. "McCall and Stilinski. Yeah, you're both on my list. Who wants to come back first?"

Oh. Fuck. "Are you sure?" asked Stiles. "I mean, it seems like there might be a mistake. We probably shouldn't have the same disciplinarian. We're roommates." He had no idea if that mattered, but he was kind of low on excuse ideas at the moment.

Murderbrows stared at him, then held up the tablet. There were their names, big as life. "Oh," said Stiles. "Okay. I just wondered." He looked at Scott and tried to telegraph he-is-going-to-kill-me-and-then-you with his brain. Scott nodded, eyes wide.

"Who's going first?" Murderbrows asked again. "I'm not staying late just because neither of you can read a map. Let's move this along."

Scott took a deep breath, but before he could say anything, Stiles butted in. "I am." He could give Scott a heads-up on his way out, let him know what he was in for. Scott gave him a relieved look.

"Fine. McCall, you wait here." Murderbrows pointed to a row of chairs. "Stilinski, with me." Stiles followed him through another keycarded door, down a formica-tiled hallway lit with buzzing fluorescent lights. Murderbrows opened Room 125 and gestured Stiles inside.

The room was bright, but not as utilitarian as Stiles expected, with dark gray carpet and walls padded with foam. A St. Andrews cross stood in the corner, casting an X-shaped shadow on the wall. Beside it sat an armless chair, and in the middle of the room was a padded two-level bench. Murderbrows took a seat on the bench and pointed to the chair. Stiles sat.

"My name is Derek Hale," said Murderbrows. "Before we get going, I'm just going to tell you that I've been through this program too, and I've had two years of classes in order to train for this job. So don't worry that I don't know what I'm doing." It sounded like an order. Stiles nodded.

"I have your file here," Murderbrows-- Derek-- went on. "Your last disciplinarian was Sheriff Stilinski. Is he a relative?"

"My dad," squeaked Stiles. He cleared his throat and tried again. "My dad. He's the sheriff; he had a lot of kids come to him for discipline."

Derek frowned at Stiles. "He didn't go easy on me just because he was my dad," said Stiles. "Hah. No."

"I'm surprised they let a family member--"

"He was an exception," Stiles interrupted. "The council said it was okay." He wasn't going to talk about why. Luckily, Derek didn't ask, just went on to the next thing on his list.

"You've got quite a history here."

"Yeah." Stiles figured anything else he had to say would only make things worse.

"Cutting class, getting drunk-- breaking into the sheriff's station?"

"Does it count as breaking in if you have a key?"

"Not if it's a stolen key."

"Technically--"

"Cloning a keycard is stealing." Derek looked up at him. "I'm pretty sure this file agrees."

"Yeah," Stiles said. He jiggled his leg and looked around. "So. This is the dungeon."

"This is a room." Derek gave him the Murderbrow Glare.

"Oh-kay." Stiles tapped his knee in counterpoint. "Is it soundproof?"

"Not this one," Derek said. "If you'd rather have a soundproof room, I'll make sure we get one next time."

"No," Stiles said, "no, no, that's okay." He looked at the door. Soundproof meant there was no one to hear. No one to stop things from getting out of hand.

"It says here," Derek said, dragging Stiles' attention back, "you usually do OTK. You want to continue that?"

"Uh." The words stuck in Stiles' throat. "Um. Not really."

Derek made a note. "Bench, then?"

"Sure." Stiles' gaze darted around, looking at everything except Derek. There was a tall cabinet beside him. Stiles decided not to look at that either. There wasn't much else in sight except the floor.

“Hey.” Derek snapped his fingers, and Stiles’ eyes jerked up. “Up here.” Derek pointed to his own eyes. “Pay attention.”

“I wasn’t ignoring--” Stiles began.

“Shut up.”

“Okay.” Stiles’ mouth clapped shut.

Derek glared down at the tablet for a second, then back at Stiles. Stiles swallowed. “Rules,” said Derek.

Stiles waited. “Okay?” he said cautiously.

Derek scowled at him. “No breaking laws.”

“Oh. Okay. Fair enough.”

“No alcohol, no drugs. No fake IDs, even if you’re not going to the club to drink. No driving without a license, breaking the speed limit, or riding your bike on the sidewalk.”

“That’s pretty specif--”

“I read your file.”

“Ah. Right.”

“You keep your room and bathroom clean. Your file says you’ll be texting pictures to your dad. I want to see them too.”

“Got it.” 

“You attend all your classes, do your assignments and turn them in on time.”

“Okay, but hypothetically--”

“No.”

“You didn’t even hear--”

“No.”

Stiles blew out a breath and gritted his teeth. “Okay.”

“If I add or change any rules, I’ll let you know,” Derek said. “I texted you with my number, so make sure you call me if you have any questions." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a keycard. "This'll get you into the wing. Don't lose it."

Stiles took it, turning it over. Just plain white. No distinguishing characteristics. Good.

"Do you have anything else to add?"

Stiles' attention flipped back and he raised his eyebrows in a silent question. "Anything you want to work on," Derek clarified. "Anything you think punishment will help with."

Did he want to give Murderbrows more reasons to punish him? No. No, he did not. "Nope," he said. "No, I'm all good with what's there."

"We're going to be working together for a couple years," said Derek. It sounded like a threat. "Don't feel like you can't ask for help when you need it."

Stiles nodded violently. "Got it," he said. "Message received. Thanks. I'm good."

Derek tapped on the tablet and stood up. "Okay. Your appointments will be at 2:30 on Wednesdays. Don't be late."

"Appointments?" Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. "Can't I just drop in sometime during the week?"

Derek shook his head. "If we did that, everyone would wait till 4:30 on Friday. Not happening. Wednesday. 2:30."

"Yes, _sir_!" Stiles snapped a halfhearted salute on his way out the door. Before Derek could nail him on disrespect, Stiles got out of there. He could have made an argument that he was being serious, but he didn't feel like getting into it, and besides, Scott still needed to meet with Derek. Stiles didn't want him to have to wait until Monday.

Scott looked anxious as Stiles came back into the waiting room. "Room 125," Stiles said. "Don't worry, he's just going to talk. He won't kill you. Probably."

"You think you're funny, but you're not." Scott grabbed the door Stiles was holding open.

"Lies," called Stiles. The door closed with a solid thunk. Stiles sat down and took a deep breath. His leg began jiggling again. He missed his dad.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just gotta give a huge shoutout to CranApplePye, who lets me text her randomly with things like "what should scott get spanked for?" and "do you remember if kira's mom ever foxed out like wolves wolf out?" She is always helpful and encouraging, and I probably would not ever get any of this written without her enthusiasm.

Derek made it home just after Laura did. He caught her kicking off her heels, sighing as she flexed her feet and rubbed them on the cool tile of the entryway. “Hey, you’re home,” she said. “Orientation over?”

“Yeah,” he said, and dropped his messenger bag on the floor. “What’s for dinner?”

Laura looked at him blankly. “I thought you were making dinner.”

“Orientation,” said Derek, raising an eyebrow. “As you’ve just demonstrated you know. I was there till five, then I hit the gym.”

“Cora!” they both shouted. There was no answer. “Goddammit,” Laura sighed. “I’m gonna beat that girl’s ass into next week.” She went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Well hell. Pizza or Chinese?”

“Chinese, I guess.” Derek toed his shoes off and went into the living room to collapse on the couch. Laura followed him in with a glass of wine and the remote. They watched the news, Derek’s mind drifting to weekend plans. Gym, a hike, maybe a grocery run…

“And there she is,” said Laura. Derek lifted his head to see Cora closing the door. She looked distinctly guilty.

“Hey,” said Cora. 

“Hello,” said Laura. Derek knew that note in her voice. “Busy day?”

Cora stared at her, then sighed. “Okay, okay, fine, I fucked up, you know it and I know it. Sorry. I forgot. Put it on my list.”

Laura finished off her wine. “Derek. I’m officially notifying you.”

“I don’t have my tablet.” Derek scowled at his bag across the room. “Cora, throw it here.”

“I hate you,” grumbled Cora, but she dug into the bag and tossed it in his direction. He shot out his claws and managed to impale the padded case. 

“That’s two,” Laura said, and Cora groaned in protest. 

“It’s okay,” Derek said, flipping the tablet up and opening the app. “I caught it, it’s all good. I don’t want to have to see her bare ass any more than I already have to.”

Cora snickered and Derek flushed. “It’s supposed to embarrass _you_ , not me.”

“That’s why it’s so funny,” said Cora. Laura laughed too, and Derek felt heat rise to the back of his neck. “I hate you both,” he grumbled. “Laura, you do it.”

“Hey, I did my time,” said Laura. “I had your hairy butt in my face way more than I ever wanted to. Now it’s your turn.” She stretched luxuriantly and padded into the kitchen for the bottle. “How many students do you have, anyway?”

“Four weres,” Derek said. “Cora, a couple foxes, and a panther; all the other weres have pack nearby. And two humans. They’re actually the ones I’m expecting the most trouble from.” He finished typing into Cora’s file and flipped open Stilinski’s for the hell of it. 

“Well yeah. When it’s optional, you only get the real discipline cases,” said Laura. She threw her phone over to Cora. “Dinner was your responsibility. You call. I want Kung Pao.”

Cora raised her eyebrows at Derek. “Beef with bean sprouts, please,” he said. “And some spring rolls.” Stilinski’s picture grinned up at him like it was glad to see him. Or mocking him. That was more probable. Everyone mocked Derek.

He had seen long files in case studies for class, but nothing to rival this for sheer breadth of offenses. One week it was an unexcused absence from lacrosse practice, the next week throwing an illegal rave in someone’s apartment, later on using a police van to kidnap a classmate. Some of these stunts would have landed anyone else in jail for at least a couple months, but Derek guessed that was the benefit of having the sheriff as a disciplinarian and father. 

He hadn’t started out as Stiles’ disciplinarian, though. Stiles had been assigned to a teacher when he was thirteen, but a transfer order to the Sheriff was dated almost a year later. Derek skimmed the rest of the file to find a reason, but didn’t see anything else out of the ordinary. Aside from the multitude of entries, of course. Was there a week Stiles _hadn’t_ been punished for something? Forget lacrosse, Derek was surprised the kid could walk.

There was a new item notification in the Notes section. Derek opened it to find two items, one archive file and one actual note.

_It’ll be easier for you to read the notes in subject order rather than strictly chronological, so I reorganized the archive. I’ve attached an outline. Please feel free to get in touch with me if there’s anything further you need to know._

_Stiles isn’t a bad kid. I’m not saying that as his father; I’m saying it as his disciplinarian. He means well. He doesn’t think things through a lot of the time, no matter how often we work on that, but there’s not a malicious bone in his body. I realize how the file looks, but please get to know him before writing him off. If you can work with him over the next two years, I’m positive he’ll make us both proud by the time you’re finished._

_John Stilinski._

“Derek!” Laura shouted. He jumped. “I’ve asked you five times. Top three choices from Netflix for tonight, go.”

Derek looked up from the tablet and shook his head. “No TV for me tonight. I have a bunch of reading to do.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay-- I ran out of buffer, then I went out of town and didn't have a keyboard that worked. Back again, and I hope to have a new chapter up in a few days.

College. Was. _Awesome._

Stiles didn’t click his heels together as he left Survey of Western Culture, but it was implied. Homosexual bonding in Sparta _was too_ a valid method of ensuring unit loyalty, and he’d gotten to argue the point for a good ten minutes. Not only that, but his professor had encouraged it, throwing in a few questions that got another four people in on the discussion. Stiles hadn’t been told to shut up and learn once. “Suck it!” he yelled to no one in particular. A group of girls turned to look at him. He grinned and waved and tripped over a crack in the sidewalk.

His good mood lasted until he got to his room to drop off his books and saw Gorgeous Danny kicked back on the living room futon with Stupidly Hot Dude. Well. Fuck. His visions of himself and Danny on a beach in Hawaii were nothing but wishful thinking, but it still hurt a little to see exactly how far out of Danny’s league he was. Stupidly Hot Dude had his shirt rucked up to show washboard abs, a blond, blue-eyed certified god.

“Hey, Stiles,” said Danny. He toed Stupidly Hot Dude in the side. “Say hi, Jacks.”

“How’s it going?” said Stupidly Hot Jacks. His eyes flicked to Stiles, then back to the TV.

“We’re watching the game, if you want to join us,” said Danny. He elbowed Jacks to shift over, which Jacks did with a grumble and a scowl. 

“Okay.” Stiles didn’t want to watch the two of them make out, but hopefully his presence would be a deterrent. And he didn’t mind getting sucked into football, even if it was only the preseason. And then Danny grabbed a handful of Doritos and passed Stiles the bag, so maybe the making out was less likely than Stiles expected, because who ate Doritos right before sticking their tongue into someone’s mouth? Although maybe that’s what dudes did. He didn’t know for sure. Stiles sat back, munched, watched the commentators, and tried to figure out something to say to Danny that wouldn’t make him look desperate or stupid.

“I’m just saying,” Jacks continued, as if Stiles had rudely interrupted, “first line should not be out of the question. I don’t need to be captain, but fuck if I’m not better than that asshole LaGrange, I don’t care if he is a junior.”

“We haven’t even played a game yet,” said Danny in a tone that meant this wasn’t the first time they’d had this discussion. “We’ve had two practices. Give it time.”

Stiles perked up. “First line? You guys play lacrosse?”

Danny nodded. “We played in high school. Jackson got a lacrosse scholarship, actually, which is why he’s being all pissy now.” Jackson shot Danny a narrow-eyed glare, and Danny grinned. “Poor baby can’t handle riding the bench.”

“Hey, I did too. Play lacrosse in high school, I mean. Not came in on a lacrosse scholarship. Did ride the bench, though, so we have that in common.” Jackson turned the narrow-eyed death glare on Stiles, which fuck him, because he didn’t get to have Danny and be King of Lacrosse too.

“What position?” asked Danny. He tore a can off his six-pack and handed it over. “Want a Red Bull?”

Okay, Danny was not only the hottest guy in existence, he also had to be the nicest. Stupidly Hot Jackson didn’t deserve him. Stiles reached for the can. Their fingers didn’t touch, but it was a close thing. “Yeah, awesome, thanks. I played, uh, midfield.” It wasn’t a total lie. He’d played midfield for two plays before accidentally thwacking himself with his crosse and getting sent back to the bench. “How about you?”

“Goalie,” said Danny, settling back onto the futon. “Jackson’s an attacker.”

“I was captain,” Jackson grumbled.

Danny laughed. “Oh my God, dude, let it go. Please tell me you didn’t expect to swoop in here and make captain your freshman year. It’s not high school. Now shut up and watch the game. This is supposed to make you feel better.”

Jackson’s phone chirped, and he scowled at them both before looking at it. Stiles turned back to Danny. “So you’re goalie here now, too?”

“Not yet. I mean, I’m not first line either. Only difference between us is that I wasn’t expecting to be.” Danny reached into the Doritos bag in Stiles’ lap. Stiles froze, and his mouth went dry as he watched Danny’s hand, separated from his crotch only by a plastic bag and a layer of snack products. Jesus _fuck._

“I’m gonna go,” Jackson announced, texting furiously before pocketing his phone. “Lydia needs a ride downtown.”

Danny laughed, and Jackson calmly flipped him off. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” said Danny.

“That’s a short list,” Jackson said. He gave Danny a wave, ignoring Stiles entirely as he left.

Oh. _Oh._ Stiles’ entire worldview brightened. “Girlfriend?” he asked in a hopefully-casual voice.

“Yeah. They’ve been together since sophomore year. I fully expect her to drop him this semester, though. Lydia likes starfucking, and he’s not one anymore.” Danny took a long swig off his drink and crumpled the can in his fist. “So yeah, expect a pissed-off Jackson to be stomping around here within the next few weeks.”

“Got it,” Stiles said. He stuffed down the victory dance his brain was doing. 

Danny looked at him sharply. “He _is_ straight, though. So don’t look so happy. It’s not going to do you any good.”

Wait, what? Stiles blinked. “Dude, trust me, not in a million years. He’s not my type.”

“He’s everyone’s type.”

Stiles considered this. “I’ll admit that he’s hot. Stupidly hot. But also, and no offense cause he’s your friend, he’s kind of an asshole.”

Danny shrugged. “Sometimes. He’s actually a really good guy; he’s just pissed off right now. But fair enough, just wanted to get that out there.”

Stiles reached into the Doritos bag, then-- “Hey wait, how do you even know I’m gay?”

“Infant, please.” Danny stole the bag away from him. “The same way you know I’m gay. Shut up and watch the game.”

Stiles managed to keep his mouth shut and look like he was concentrating. It wasn’t easy. Danny was gay, Danny knew Stiles was gay, Danny told Stiles that Jackson had a girlfriend, and Danny _didn’t_ say he had a boyfriend. It was a long shot, yeah, it was a hella long shot, but that didn’t mean there was no chance at all. 

College. Was. _Awesome._

*

When Scott got home, there was the traditional argument about whose turn it was to pick the game. Scott favored Diablo III while Stiles fought for Black Ops. In the end, Scott gave in as he always did, and they squabbled over a mission while demolishing nachos. Stiles didn’t have a class till eleven the next day, and Scott’s early class was close enough to their dorm that he could get there seven minutes after he got out of bed. They shot commies until one, when Danny knocked on their door and asked them to keep it down so he and Greenberg could get some sleep.

“Hey,” said Scott, after they’d shut off the lights for bed, “do you believe in love at first sight?”

“Yes,” said Stiles promptly, because what else was between him and Danny? Although for Danny it might end up as love at 1000th sight. Or something.

“I think I found her,” Scott said. “She’s amazing. She’s funny, and she’s nice, and she’s _gorgeous_ \--”

“Please tell me her name isn’t Allison.”

A pillow hit him out of the darkness. “Fuck you.”

“I’m just saying, I’ve heard this all before.”

“Her name is Kira,” Scott went on as if he hadn’t heard. “She’s into swordfighting. Swordfighting, dude, how awesome is that? She’s on the fencing team, but she knows a ton of other styles.”

Stiles frowned at the ceiling. “Doesn’t sound like you two have a lot in common, then.”

“What? She’s into swords, I’m into hearing her talk about swords. It’s perfect.”

“Yeah.”

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously. I’m glad you found someone. Just… she doesn’t have to be The One, okay? I mean, Allison seriously wrecked you, dude, and I love you and you’re my brother, but I’m not going to sit there and shove tissues under the door to you again.” 

“It’s not going to be like that.” Scott sounded assured. “Kira’s different. I asked her if her family had any traditions, and she said they have pizza on Friday nights, but that’s all. I think I’m safe.”

“No family code? No ritual duels for honor, or code names, or inappropriate amounts of weaponry?”

Scott laughed. “Nope. No guns, no garrottes, no grenades. I asked.”

Stiles was less than convinced, but it was late and Scott had class at eight. “Okay. Cool. Let me know when I can meet her.”

“Yeah.” Scott’s voice had that faraway tone that meant he wasn’t hearing Stiles anymore. “Dude. I love college.”

“College is awesome,” Stiles agreed.


	5. Chapter 5

The knock at the door was tentative, but Derek’s hearing was sharp. He opened the door and caught Stiles about to knock again. Stiles looked startled. “Oh. Hey. Uh, I’m here. On time and everything.”

“Come in,” said Derek. He shut the door behind Stiles and gestured him to the chair, taking his own seat on the bench. Stiles sat as directed and folded his hands in his lap. Good.

“How was your first week?” asked Derek.

“Fine,” said Stiles. “My roommates are cool, my classes are awesome, and they showed Anchorman 2 in the student union on Saturday. I got no complaints.” He smiled.

It took Derek a little off guard. “Great,” he said. “Anything you want to discuss?”

“Nope,” Stiles said. “I’m good to go. Great talking with you.”

“Sit down,” Derek said before Stiles made it all the way up. Stiles frowned. “I have your attendance report,” Derek said. “You were twenty minutes late to Microeconomics, and you missed Stats entirely on Monday.”

Stiles looked startled. “Oh. Yeah, I kind of overslept on Monday. But I was only late to Micro because I read the map wrong and went the wrong way.”

Excuses. That’s more like what Derek was expecting. “Not the first time that’s happened, though, is it?” said Derek.

“Yeah, no,” said Stiles. His leg began to jitter. “I’m sorry, okay? It was my first week. I’ll get it together.”

“I’m sure you will,” Derek said. “So once we get this taken care of, everything’s cool. You can keep your shirt on if you want, it’s up to you.” He got up from the bench and watched to see what Stiles would do.

Stiles looked like he wanted to say something else, but he dropped his eyes, squared his shoulders and stood up. “Okay. Yeah.” 

Derek hadn’t expected a fight, exactly, but Stiles’ file had led him to think there would be more arguing than this. Not that that was a problem. He opened the cabinet. Paddle, strap, cane… Derek turned back to ask Stiles for a preference, and saw the student plucking at his belt. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Stiles pulled the belt end up, then back through the buckle. 

Derek stepped forward. “You don’t look okay.”

Stiles glanced up with a flash of anxiety. “No, no, I’m fine.” His heart rate increased. Derek could smell the fear coming off him. Stiles unbuckled his belt, but his hands froze on the button of his jeans. “I’m-- uh-- I need--” His knees buckled and he staggered back to the chair.

Derek dashed forward as Stiles put his head between his knees. “I’m-- I’m--” Stiles was hyperventilating, but managed to get the words out. “Can I-- can I-- have-- Scott?”

“Jesus, Stiles, do I need to call an ambulance?” Derek had the first two numbers dialed before Stiles grabbed his arm and shook his head. “It’s not-- it’s a panic attack. Scott’s here. Outside.”

Derek practically ran down the hall. “He wants you,” he said to Scott, who was in the waiting room, and took off back before Scott could say a word. If Stiles had passed out or something, he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do. Luckily, he was still upright, breathing hard with his head between his knees. Scott was right behind him, and pushed past and knelt at Stiles’ side. “Hey dude. Hey.”

“Scott.” Stiles’ head came up, eyes wide and panicked.

“It’s okay,” Scott said. He gripped Stiles’ hand. “You’re okay.”

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t.”

“You’re okay,” Scott repeated. “Breathe, and count to ten with me. In-- One. In-- Two. Come on. In through your nose, out through your mouth. In--”

“Three,” Stiles finished on an exhale. He breathed and counted and gripped Scott’s hand like he was drowning, and Derek stood back and wondered how everything had gone to hell so fast.

He didn’t get it. It was a spanking. According to his file, Stiles had had a million of them. Derek had been told he could be intimidating, but Stiles hadn’t seemed afraid of him when they’d met before, and it wasn’t like Derek had yelled at him today. There was no reason for Stiles to be falling to pieces. 

“Nine.” said Scott. Stiles seemed better, shoulders a little less rigid. He breathed in with Scott and said “Ten.” Color was coming back to his lips.

Scott looked up at Derek. “Um. Could he maybe have some water?”

Derek should have thought of that. “Yeah. Hang on.” He left them and went to the breakroom, where there was half a case of bottled water left. “It’s not cold,” he said when he returned and handed the bottle over. 

Stiles reached for it, cracked it open, and gulped half of it down before stopping. “Thanks,” said Scott.

Derek looked at them both, at a loss for what to do next. Stiles drained the bottle. “Sorry,” he said when he could breathe normally again. “I haven’t had one of those in a long time. I didn’t expect it. Sorry.” His ears and neck were a dull red. 

“Are you going to be okay?” Derek blurted out. He scowled to cover his confusion. “You should go to the doctor.” The last thing he needed was a student having a heart attack on his watch. 

Stiles shook his head. “Panic attacks suck. But they aren’t incapacitating. They just… suck a lot.” 

“He used to get them a lot,” Scott volunteered. “Like, a few years ago. But he’s a lot better now.”

Derek wasn’t sure. “Maybe I should check with your last disciplinarian first.”

“No,” Stiles said sharply. “No, don’t call him. I’m fine.” He darted a glance at Derek. “But can Scott stay? I’ll feel a lot better if he stays.”

Punishments were supposed to be private; that was the whole point of having individual rooms in a locked wing. But Stiles’ breath was still shaky, and he and Scott seemed to have this whole weird creepy-twin relationship, and if it didn’t bother them to watch each other get spanked, Derek figured it didn’t need to bother him either. At least Scott could testify that Derek had made the offer. “Okay. Go ahead and get in position, then.”

Stiles came to the end of the bench, unfastened his jeans, and pushed everything down to mid-thigh. He knelt on the lower level and bent at the waist, resting his body on the padded leather upper level and reaching for the handles. Scott stood beside the bench, a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Derek hadn’t expected an audience today. He didn’t look at Scott, but addressed the back of Stiles’ head.

“I’m going to start off with my hand. When I’m done with that, I’ll let you choose what we end with. Do you remember what this is for?”

“Because I overslept and I suck at reading maps.” There was a trace of sarcasm in Stiles’ voice that made Derek feel better.

“Good enough.” He smacked Stiles’ left cheek. Stiles didn’t even jump. Derek hit the same spot again, then the matching spot on his right. Not a sound. 

Derek wouldn’t have pushed the envelope on this one, even if there hadn’t been a panic attack at the beginning. They were too new to each other. There was time for Derek to figure out Stiles’ tells, his stubbornness and his weaknesses. He spanked slowly and deliberately, watching for minute shifts and jerks, listening for sounds of pain. Stiles squirmed when Derek slapped his left thigh three times in succession, and Derek mentally marked it down. 

Stiles was breathing audibly and his butt was a decent shade of red when Derek decided that was enough. “You choose. Four with the cane, ten with the paddle, or ten with the strap.”

“Strap,” said Stiles after a second. 

Derek took a strap off the cabinet door. He flicked his eyes up to Scott, but Scott was looking down at Stiles, who gripped his hand tightly. Derek moved back into position. 

He didn’t stretch it out, and he didn’t make Stiles count. Each blow smacked loud onto Stiles’ ass, one after the other, and Stiles grunted but didn’t cry out. At the tenth, Stiles’ whole body clenched, then relaxed. Scott knelt down next to Stiles, still gripping his hand. “You did great, dude. You’re done. You’re okay.”

Derek turned his back and let the two of them deal with things. He put the strap away and closed the cabinet, then picked up the empty water bottle. He heard rustling, zipping, and when he turned around Stiles was on his feet and dressed. 

“Are you going to be okay?” Derek asked.

“Fine,” said Stiles. He didn’t quite meet Derek’s eyes. 

Derek nodded. “All right then. We’ll talk next week. And Scott, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. Yeah,” said Scott, looking like he’d just realized what that meant. “Okay. Cool. Seeya then.”

The two of them walked out together. Derek went back to the breakroom, dropped the empty bottle in the recycling, and got a full one for himself. He still wasn’t sure what had just happened. He’d come prepared for anything from complaints to anger to outright rebellion. Not this. He took a long drink and stared at the ceiling. 

Not fear.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry you guys! Life happened, and I also got stuck and couldn't figure out what came next. I got unstuck, though, and I now have the next two chapters halfway written in my head, so the next updates shouldn't take as long.

Scott peered around the corner, then glanced back and waved Stiles urgently forward. Stiles dashed over and across the hall. Scott followed him. They adjusted their strides to something casual, and when a girl came around the bend in the hallway, they both looked nonchalant, as if they could have come from anywhere. The bookstore, maybe. They nodded. “‘sup?” Stiles said. She gave them a smile, and they breathed easier.

“You good?” asked Scott when she was out of sight.

“Yeah,” said Stiles. No big deal, just a normal guy walking around Student Services in a normal way, though his butt hurt and walking normally was a bit of a challenge.

Scott fell into step beside him. “Are you sure? Want me to call your--”

“Dude, I’m fine,” said Stiles.  “Don’t get all freaked out.” They got to the door and stepped out into the midafternoon sunshine. “Hey, let’s go to the dining hall; I want a milkshake.”

“Oh hell yeah.” Scott grinned, all worry forgotten.

On the first day of school, Stiles had discovered that the dining hall was open eighteen hours a day. On the second day, he’d discovered the snack bar section. On the third day, he’d found that he could get unlimited milkshakes, or at least limited only by the amount of his meal plan. He’d had at least one a day ever since. After the appointment he’d just had with Derek, he wanted at least three.

The place wasn’t as packed as it was at mealtimes, but Stiles and Scott still had to wait in line. Looked like Stiles wasn’t the only one to have discovered the joys of school milkshakes. (Milkshakes at school, _God_ he loved college.) He was contemplating chocolate malt vs. mocha when he heard Scott say “Hey,” the smile audible in his voice. Oh hell. Stiles sighed. He didn’t even have to look up to know what was happening; he knew the gooey sound of Scott McCall losing his heart.

He looked up anyway, to see a pale Asian girl with long black hair smiling hesitantly at Scott in almost exactly the same way Scott was smiling at her. “Holy shit, there are two of you,” Stiles said. The girl tilted her head at him, a question on her face. Yeah, this girl was a female Scott if he’d ever seen one.

“Oh yeah,” said Scott, “this is my friend Stiles. We’re roommates.” He gestured vaguely between the two of them. “Stiles, this is Kira. I told you about her.”

“You certainly did,” said Stiles, reaching around Scott to shake Kira’s hand. She looked a little confused, but shook hands anyway. “You fight with swords. That’s pretty awesome.”

She shrugged, but her smile grew. “No, it’s not that-- well, yeah, it is kind of awesome. I didn’t even know I was good at it till that long ago, but I just kind of fell into it and now I’m on the team.”

“Oh yeah?” asked Stiles. “Saber or epee?”

“Epee, actually. Do you know fencing?”

“Not in the least,” said Stiles. “But neither does Scott, and I’m pretty sure he has a million questions about it. Right? Scott?” He nudged Scott in the chest, who was just standing there looking goofy.

“Yeah. Yeah! I totally do,” said Scott. “Kira, you want a milkshake?”

“Well yeah, that’s why I’m in line.” Her twinkle took any sting out of the words.

Stiles could hear actual Disney animals singing little songs around her feet. He knew his cue when he heard it. “Okay, I have some stuff I have go do, but you crazy kids have fun, okay? But be safe. Safe fun.” He gave Scott a wink and a thumbs-up, and Scott mouthed _thank you_ when Kira wasn’t looking.

So, Stiles had just ditched himself, and without a milkshake. Because he was just that smart. He was happy for Scott and everything, but honestly, this day blew like a vacuum in reverse. His ass hurt, though the sting was mostly fading to a dull ache, and he was torn between being pissed at Derek for punishing what was mostly an honest mistake and being pissed at himself for falling the fuck apart like he had.

Himself, he decided. He grabbed a fistful of Slim Jims and a Coke and slid his card to pay for them. Oversleeping really had been his own fault; Stiles never held a grudge when he actually did something to deserve punishment. It wasn’t his fault he was late, but as long as he was getting it for one thing, he guessed Derek might as well throw the other on the pile.

He sat down alone with a sigh, twitching when his butt hit the seat. No, this whole mess was Stiles’ own panic-attacky headcase issue. He wasn’t supposed to talk about himself like that, he’d been told and told, but come on. Now he wasn’t just a loser who got to spend three extra years in the program, he was a loser who couldn’t _handle_ the program. Unless it was his dad handing out the discipline. Which showed how fucked up he was, because you weren’t even supposed to have your parents involved. Best interests of the family and everything.

Maybe that was his problem. He felt too safe with his dad in charge. You were probably supposed to be more scared of your disciplinarian than he’d been for the past five years. Scott hadn’t been scared of Stiles’ dad, though, and he didn’t seem worried about going to Derek. Stiles was just… He sighed. He was a child who wanted Daddy. “The fuck am I even doing here?” he muttered.

“Waiting for me, obviously,” said Danny as he swung into the seat next to him. Stiles jumped so hard his chair fell over.

“Shit!” Danny grabbed for his arm but missed. “Holy shit, dude, sorry, are you okay?”

“I’m good,” said Stiles from his crumple of limbs on the floor. “Never better. Don’t worry about it.” He untangled himself and sat back up, his face burning hot. Way to go, Stiles. What a display of agility in front of your crush.

“Sorry about that,” said Danny with a rueful smile. Stiles instantly forgave him.

“Very nice,” said Jackson, setting a tray down beside Danny. “You must have been a star back home.”

Wow, what had Stiles done to deserve that level of attitude? “I was,” he said. “I was _the_ star. I was the _king_. I was--”

He was dumbstruck as the most beautiful girl in the world sat down beside Jackson, long red hair, full lips, and black-lashed eyes anyone would get lost in. He had to check to make sure his mouth hadn’t fallen open. It had. He closed it.

“I just called Aiden,” she said to Jackson, ignoring Stiles completely. “They’re going to come meet with us to go over the verbs for tomorrow. I have a study room reserved for three o'clock, so eat fast.”

Jackson scowled and took a large bite of his banana, but it was Danny who spoke. “We were going to hit the gym at three-thirty. Coach wants us in there four times a week.”

“Then Jackson will just have to meet up with you later,” she said.

“Lydia--” Danny started, but she cut him off. “Chinese is no joke. It’s not like a Romance language. It takes study.”

“Why are you even taking it?” Danny asked Jackson.

“Because China is about to surpass the US and become the world’s largest economy,” said Lydia. Jackson shrugged and spread peanut butter on his toast.

God, Jackson was whipped. Although Stiles couldn’t blame him; any straight guy would have gladly lain down and let her walk on him with her red-soled spike heels. “That’s really impressive,” he said. “I’m taking Spanish. I’m probably not going to move out of California, so that’s what makes the most--”

“No.”

Stiles blinked. “What?”

“No,” said Lydia again.

“I’m pretty sure I am,” Stiles said. Beside him, Danny snickered. Stiles turned to glare at him. “What?”

Lydia sipped her Diet Coke and looked past Stiles at Danny. “Why are we even here?”

“He’s my suitemate, Lydia. We’re being friendly. This isn’t high school.” Danny rolled his eyes.

She sniffed and turned her eyes to Stiles. “Just don’t get any ideas.”

“Ideas about what?” Stiles asked, before it hit him. “You mean, like-- Oh. No, I’m not straight.”

“Obviously,” she said. Stiles looked down at himself, wondering what it was that could possibly ping anyone’s gaydar. Even his dad hadn’t believed him when Stiles had officially come out.

“Lydia.” Danny’s voice was firm. “This isn’t necessary. We’re friends.” He looked over at Stiles. “Right?”

Stiles had no idea what the fuck was going on. “Of course,” he said. Danny didn’t have to know about the elaborate fantasies he had constructed for Private Stiles Time.

“Mmm,” was Lydia’s only response.

Jackson finally spoke up. “We can study for an hour, then I’m going to work out.”

Lydia’s lips pinched together. Jackson shoved the rest of his peanut butter toast into his mouth and swallowed almost without chewing. “You cool with waiting another half hour, Danny?”

“Sure,” said Danny.

“Fine,” said Lydia in an airy voice that fooled no one.

“Fine,” said Jackson. “Let’s go.”

Lydia gave Stiles a pointed look before she got up. Stiles was honestly confused. “What did I do?” he asked Danny.

Danny shook his head. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. She’s my friend, but she can get kind of…”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “I get that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Danny with a smile, and God, that smile, Stiles could hardly stand it. “She’s harmless. Well,” he corrected himself. “Mostly harmless.”

Holy shit. “Did you just make a Hitchhiker’s joke?”

Danny lifted his eyebrows. “Maybe.”

Goddamn, Stiles was in _love_.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another delay. It was GISHWHES. Blame Misha Collins. Lord knows I do. :)

Cora was already there when Derek opened the door. She grinned wryly. “Damn. I was hoping for the ten-minute rule.”

“That’s not a thing,” said Derek automatically, dropping his backpack in a corner and shutting the door. It gave a soft thud. The soundproofing made it feel like some of the air was sucked out of the room, leaving only the two of them and the gentle sigh of the air conditioning.

Cora’s heart rate rose, but she acted unconcerned. “It’s totally a thing,” she said. “Just because all teachers lie and say it’s not doesn’t mean it isn’t. Ugh, fine, whatever. Where are we doing this?”

Derek felt a thread of nervousness trail through his own chest. He squashed it ruthlessly. “Over my knee, if you think you can hold still.”

Cora scoffed. “You can’t be any worse than Mom.”

“You don’t hold still for Mom.” He opened the cupboard and reached to the top shelf for the rowan wood paddle.

“Lies,” she retorted, skinning off her shirt and unhooking her bra. “Slander and lies. Did Laura tell you that?”

Derek rolled his eyes at her and grabbed the chair. “Just get over here and let’s get this out of the way.”

Cora mumbled something indistinct, kicked her pants off and stepped up to his side, bending over until she was on her tiptoes and her ponytail brushed the floor. Derek kind of wished he wasn’t wearing clothes either. Skin to skin always felt better among pack, but he couldn’t offer it to any of his other students, so he didn’t give Cora the option. He rested his hand on her butt. “Want to tell me why we’re here?”

Cora gave a tiny, petulant growl. “Forgetting my responsibilities. Dinner, dishes, that stuff Laura wanted me to get--”

“Toilet paper.”

“Right, yeah. Also probably because she’s being a hardass about me borrowing her clothes.”

Derek had to stifle a snort. “I don’t think that was on the list.”

“Oh. Then I don’t know why you’re talking about it. I certainly didn’t bring it up.”

His sister was ridiculous, and he loved her. He wondered if Laura had thought the same thing about him the first time she had put him over her knee. “Okay,” he said. “We’re going to start. Right now, I’m the alpha, so pay attention.” They were the same words Laura had said to him, every time. 

Derek slapped Cora’s backside harder than he’d hit a human. Humans were fragile, as his parents had impressed on them repeatedly. Cuff a werewolf and she’d jump right back up again. Cuff a human and you risked fracturing his bones. Derek was hypercareful around his human students, but Cora could take his strength. With their real alpha far away, Cora needed it.

Her skin reddened and darkened, and she squirmed over his lap, growling in an effort to deal with the pain. “Hey,” he said sharply when her claws dug into the carpet. She lifted her hands up and away, but had to grab hold of his leg when he smacked her thigh, and he yelped involuntarily.

“Sorry!” she said. “Sorry, ow, that was unintentional-- OW!”

“That wasn’t,” said Derek, shaking out his hand. “Put those away and be more careful.” When Cora grasped his leg again, her fingertips were soft. Derek spanked harder, but despite her tightening grip on his ankle, her nails remained flat. Her growl softened to a sustained, pleading whine. A few more slaps and he picked up the paddle. He pressed it against her ass and her whine grew higher, but she didn’t move. “Just ten,” said Derek. “Count them for me.”

“One,” said Cora. He could hear the struggle in her voice. “Two. Three-eee.” She had worked her fingers up under his pant leg to be touching his skin. “Four, Derek, God that hurts.”

“Keep counting,” said Derek inflexibly. He smacked the paddle down again, straight across her butt. She barely kept her feet on the floor. “Five, fuck, Derek _please_ \--”

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. When he finished, she relaxed and lay whimpering over his knees. He let her, petting her lower back soothingly. He didn’t take the pain, pain was the entire point of the exercise, but he stroked her skin to remind her that he was there and he was pack.

When she was ready, he helped her up and let her get dressed. She eyed the paddle accusingly as he put it away. “I hate that thing.”

“Yeah, me too,” Derek agreed. “Stings like a son of a bitch. You want a hug?”

“What the hell kind of question is that? Of course I want a hug.” She reached out for him, as trusting as she’d been when she was two, and he held her tightly and rubbed his cheek against her hair. She breathed in against his neck and nuzzled him. “See you at dinner?” she asked when she let him go.

“I have class tonight,” said Derek. “I’ll be home around ten.”

“Kay.” She kissed him on the cheek, then bumped his shoulder on the way out. Still a little emotionally tender from the punishment, but not so much that she’d avoid letting him know who she thought was boss. Derek smiled. And then he sighed.

It was no trouble doing his job with any of his other students. The other weres had no pack or troop or pride nearby, and their alphas had given him the power to stand in for them. He did his job, and they cried, or didn’t, and in the end everyone felt more secure with the boundaries reestablished. He liked knowing he could do that. 

With his own pack, it was more obvious that, even with the charge his mother gave him, he _wasn’t_ alpha. He didn’t have the temperament for it. He could smell Cora’s pain, the salt of the tears she hid, and no matter how important he knew pack discipline was, he didn’t want to be the one delivering it. He wondered if that’s how Laura had felt. He suspected it wasn’t, and he wished that she would have just kept the damn job herself and left him to do his degree in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was an adventure. :) Don't be alarmed by all the deleted comments. I had a different scene here originally, until a reader pointed out some pretty major flaws I didn't see, so we talked about it via comment thread, and I took it down to rework it. (And apparently couldn't go to bed until I got it right, which is going to suck for work tomorrow, but at least I feel better about it.)


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles wasn't worried. He wasn't. He walked up to Student Services, and he was perfectly fine. He went inside, loitered about for a minute until the hallway was clear, then let himself into the discipline wing. He pulled out his phone. 2:33. Late enough to show he wasn't jumping to obey, not so late that it would come out of his hide. Probably. 

He knocked on the door of room 125, a firm knock to show how not-worried he was. Before he had time to drop his hand, the door flung open and Derek stood in the doorway, eyebrows together in a frown. "You're late," he said before Stiles had time to say hello.

Stiles thought about arguing, then decided that didn't fit with his whole non-worried attitude. "Sorry," he said instead, in a tone that sounded more disinterested than apologetic. "Can I come in?" he added when Derek didn't move. Derek stood back and let him in. Stiles sauntered past him and took a seat on the only chair in the room.

Derek sat on the bench again, his tablet at the ready. "So. You missed _two_ classes this week."

"Yep," said Stiles.

"And half of another one."

"Yep."

Derek stared at him over the tablet. "You want to tell me why?"

Stiles shrugged. "Stuff happens. Things come up. You know how it is." He tapped out a beat on his thigh.

Derek didn't, judging from the look he was giving Stiles. "You're pretty calm about it," he said finally.

Exactly. Completely. Stiles shrugged again. "Yeah, y'know. Are we going to do this?" He stood up to undo his pants.

"Not yet. Sit down." Derek didn't sound happy, and Stiles looked at those eyebrows and sat. He kept his gaze straight and his breathing even, willing his heart to calm down. Derek looked down at the tablet for twice as long as it would take to read Stiles' report for the week. When he looked back up, Stiles thought he saw a hint of confusion in his eyes. "You did this on purpose."

"I told you, stuff came up." Stiles crossed his arms.

"What stuff would that be?" Derek asked.

"Just... stuff. With a guy. Guy stuff," Stiles added, trying to sound like he knew what he was talking about. "I'm pretty sure I'm not required to tell you all the details of my private life." 

Surprisingly, Derek seemed to buy it. He put his tablet aside. "Okay then. You get my hand like before, then twelve with the strap."

Stiles started to argue out of instinct, but caught himself. He'd literally asked for it. All in all, he was getting off pretty light for doubling his offenses from last week. Derek got up to get the strap, and Stiles got himself situated on the bench as before. 

"Pants further down," said Derek. "At your knees. I'm going to need more room."

Well _that_ didn't sound ominous. It would have bothered Stiles, if Stiles was at all worried. Which he wasn't. He straightened up, shoved his pants and underwear down to his knees, and lowered himself again. He gripped the handles, and if his knuckles were white, it wasn't like anyone could see them.

Derek's hand hit his ass with a crack that made Stiles jump. The sting followed a millisecond later. The next three were just as hard, spreading out to cover his butt. They hurt, but he could handle it. This was what he had been used to for years. He even started to relax into the pain and breathe with it. And then Derek spoke.

"I know you're out on your own for the first time without supervision. But that doesn't mean you get to do whatever you want." Two spanks landed on Stiles' thighs. "Taking off to screw around with guys instead of going to class--" four more below those-- "is irresponsible, and it's not what you're here to do." Another four, harder this time. Stiles was starting to breathe hard. He took a fresh grip on the handles.

"I saw the objection you put in your file," said Derek, slapping Stiles' butt and thighs. "You said you were responsible enough to leave the program, but the last two weeks make it pretty clear you aren't." A smack caught Stiles on the hip. "Are you?"

Rhetorical questions. Stiles hated those. He grunted as Derek's next smacks hit him right where he sat. The last one was powerful enough to make him yelp. "I asked you a question," Derek said.

Not rhetorical. Stiles hated those more. "No," he ground out under Derek's relentless hand.

"No what?"

Aw, fuck. "No, sir." Another set made Stiles groan and squirm on the leather padding. "Ow ow ow, God, fucking _ow_."

"No, sir, what?" Another set.

Aw, _fuck_. "No, sir, ow, ow, fuck, ow, I don't remember the question goddammit, ow!"

Derek paused. "Are you responsible enough not to need the program anymore?"

Stiles fought for control of his voice. "No, sir," he said as levelly as he could, "I'm not responsible enough." He winced at three sharp smacks high up on his ass.

"Is this spanking going to help you to remember to be responsible?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir."

Derek stopped, and Stiles had a few seconds to feel glad before he remembered what was coming next. "How many did we say?" Derek said.

"Twelve," Stiles growled.

Derek didn't wait more than a second before bringing the strap hard across Stiles' thighs. "Ow!" Stiles yelled. His palms were sweaty, his grip on the handles slipping.

"I want you to remember this," said Derek before landing another blow. Stiles yelled again and squirmed against the pain. "I will," he gasped, not even caring how he sounded.

"Are you going to think before skipping class to go make out?" Thwack.

"Yes, sir."

Thwack. "Say it." Thwack.

"Oh God. I'm going to-- I'm not going to skip class to go make out."

Thwack. "Are you going to skip class for any other reason?" Thwack.

"No, sir! No sir, I'm not going to skip class anymore."

"Next time you're tempted, you remember this." Thwack.

"I will. Oh, fuck, ow, I'm sorry."

Thwack. "Say it again."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I was irresponsible and skipped class, and I won't do it again."

The last three came hard and fast across the underside of his butt, and Stiles yelled again, pressing his tear-streaked face into the bench. Derek left him alone for a minute while Stiles got himself under control. He sniffed, let go of the handle to wipe his eyes, and hissed as he pushed himself upright. His ass felt swollen and painful. The strap marks burned, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He wiped his face again and gingerly pulled up his underwear. Last week had hurt. This week hurt a lot more.

When he was able to pull his jeans up and get back on his feet, he turned to see Derek writing on his tablet. "Can I go?" Stiles asked gruffly.

"Yeah, we're done here. Wait," Derek said when Stiles turned to go. "Your dad left me a note saying that you weren't a bad kid, just that you did things without thinking. He said you didn't act up on purpose."

"Yeah?" said Stiles when it looked like Derek was waiting for a response.

"I want to know that he was right." Derek's gaze bored into him.

"Fine. Yes," said Stiles. "Can I go now?"

Derek looked at him a moment longer, then nodded. "Go ahead. I'll see you next week."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. I got blocked, and then I got sick, and and and... So this chapter is finally done, but I won't be updating for a while, until I build a buffer back up. Don't worry, I'm absolutely not going to abandon this!

God. _Students._ Derek could see someone heading up to the podium to ask a question or talk with him, and he just couldn’t deal today. “Email me,” he said before the guy could open his mouth. “Sorry, I’ve got an appointment and I need to get out of here.” He didn’t stop to see if the student got it, but ducked out the side door and put on an expression that said _don’t bother me._

He didn’t have an appointment; it had just been a bitch of a day. Kate had emailed him again. He’d deleted it without reading, blocked her new address, and taken off for a run. Three times around the campus circuit hadn’t even begun to fix the feeling of seeing her name in among the requests for homework extensions and tutoring. Derek sniffed his shirt. He needed a shower. Hopefully none of the students had been close enough to smell it.

The only saving grace was that it was Friday, and Derek didn’t have to think about students for another two and a half days. He banged into the apartment, intent on heading upstairs to his bedroom, when Laura said “Hey, look who’s here!” Derek twisted to look, and suddenly his bad mood was forgotten. 

“Isaac!”

Isaac grinned and came up for a hug. Derek pressed his nose into Isaac’s shoulder and thumped him on the back. “What are you doing here?”

“Good schedule this semester. Tuesdays and Thursdays are loaded, Wednesdays is my seminar, and I’m doing an independent study. So, four-day weekends, and I thought I’d head down to see my favorite packmates.” Isaac rubbed his face against Derek’s, then let him go. “Got plans this weekend?”

“He’s going to lock himself in his room all day, come down for dinner, scowl at everyone and go back upstairs,” said Cora. “It’s his routine. He gets cranky without it.”

“Shut up,” said Derek, even though he had been basically planning that exact thing. “No plans. What do you want to do?”

Isaac looked between the three of them. “Who’s cooking tonight?”

“I am,” said Cora.

“We’re going out,” said Isaac firmly, and dodged the pillow Cora threw at him.

**

Dinner turned into drinks turned into a club Cora insisted they try, so Derek sat at the bar and drank shot after shot of Absolut Bane and watched the lights. The bass pounded into his muscles, and for the first time in a few days he could feel himself really relax.

“Hey, hey hey.” Isaac’s fresh sweat announced his presence before his words did. “How many of these have you had?”

Derek looked at his glass. “Not quite enough.” He tapped it on the bar for another refill, but Isaac plucked it out of his hand and turned it upside down. “Hey,” Derek objected, “I’m not drunk. Give that back.” He flipped it upright and glared at the bartender until the woman filled it up again.

“Maybe you’re not drunk, but you’re not sober either. What’s going on?” Isaac muscled his way in beside Derek, past a guy who snarled at him. Isaac grinned back, teeth sharp and pointy, and the guy suddenly remembered he had somewhere else to be. Isaac snaked his ankle around a barstool and pulled it up. “You’re being a downer, even for you.”

It was school, and it was Kate, fucking _Kate_ , but the first thing that came out of Derek’s mouth was “There’s this guy.”

Isaac raised his eyebrows, and Derek shook his head. “No, not like that. He’s a student. A freshman. He’s one of mine. You know I inherited Laura’s job, right?”

“Oh dude, no. Bad, bad idea. Hugely bad.”

“Not like that, I said.” Derek was getting irritated. He needed more vodka. “He’s just got… issues.” The bartender hit him without being asked, and Derek gave her one of his widest smiles.

Isaac turned his back and rested against the bar. “What is he?”

“Human.”

Isaac winced. “Oh, man, sucks for him. I guess the program extension wasn’t his idea?”

“Hah.” Derek threw back half the shot and licked his lips. “No.”

“So he’s giving you trouble. That sounds understandable.”

“Not trouble, exactly. Not yet. I mean, okay, this kid has been in trouble more times than all of us put together, and I’m not even exaggerating about that. But the first time I had him, he just about fell apart. He was panicking so bad he had to have his friend come in and hold his hand.”

“Huh. Damn.”

“That’s not even all.” Derek swallowed the rest of his vodka. “He’d missed a class that time. The next week? He _skipped_. On purpose.” He was finally feeling a little blurry. “He gave me some bullshit excuse, I gave him the same as I had the week before, plus a couple extra, and he acted all pissed off at me. So. What the fuck?”

“Oh. Well, yeah, that makes sense.” Isaac waited for Derek’s refill, then grabbed it and knocked it back before Derek could grab it away from him. Derek rolled his eyes and traced patterns in the condensation on the bar, waiting for Isaac to stop coughing. “He’s embarrassed,” said Isaac when he stopped wiping his eyes. “He couldn’t keep it together the first time, so he fucked up on purpose to show you he can take whatever you dish out.”

Derek frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.” The lights were pulsing in time with the bass. Or maybe that was just Derek’s vision.

“Sure it does. You just never got put in that position. You had your mom, and then Laura, and you never had to go bend over for a stranger and try not to embarrass yourself.” When Derek looked over at Isaac, the younger beta’s nonchalance was a bit too studied. 

Derek had never thought of how it must have been for Isaac. Skinny, gawky Isaac, all elbows and knees and big feet, who’d been brought to them at age thirteen for fostering, and who’d never cried in all the time he and Derek shared a room. “Speaking from experience?”

“Well, I mean, Officer Kolstad was a good guy. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Or at least a competent guy, who’d figured out pretty quick that the bruises on Isaac’s arms and face weren’t coming from his punishments.

“But I was still scared shitless when I first went to him. And then, just after I got used to him, I had to switch again. And God, I love your mom, but she’s intimidating as fuck. The first time I went over her knee, I thought I’d throw up. The only reason I didn’t was because I thought you’d think I was a loser.”

“I would not,” Derek objected, which was a lie.

“And then I overcompensated like hell. Which is when I stole your shoes.”

Derek snickered. “You were such a dick.”

“I was a dick in pretty shoes. My point is…” Isaac drew out the s, “that your guy is totally acting normal. And he’s like, out of high school and still going for discipline? He’s embarrassed as hell and he’s being an idiot about it.”

That did make sense. Derek started to feel better. “You should have my job. You want my job?”

“I live three hours away, man. Also, no. No, I do not want that job.”

“What are we drinking?” Cora came up behind Derek and threw an arm around his neck. “Whatever it is, I want three.”

“You get zero,” said Derek, elbowing her away.

“Isaaaaaac,” said Cora, “make him give me a drink. I had a rough week.” She batted heavily mascaraed lashes at him, but Isaac snorted and flicked her on the forehead.

“Where’s Laura?” Derek asked.

“Up on the DJ platform. I think she talked him into letting her spin some.” Cora pulled her sweaty hair up off her neck. “You should come dance.”

Derek looked up, and there was Laura, jumping up and down next to the DJ, wearing his headphones. He was surprised she hadn’t persuaded the guy to turn over his job entirely. “No.”

“If I don’t get to drink, you have to dance. It’s the rule. Isaac, you too.”

Isaac got up, and Derek gave in as gracefully as he could. “I’ll come out on the floor, but I’m not dancing.”

“For you, that _is_ dancing.” Cora tugged Derek’s arm, and he barely had time to toss three twenties on the bar before being dragged away.


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles's keyboard rattled with the force of his typing. He mumbled something under his breath, flipping back and forth from his notes to his paper, and deleted half the paragraph he just wrote.

"What?" Scott looked over from where he was piling clothes into a hamper.

"Huh?" said Stiles without looking. His fingers bumped over the keys, filling up another half a page in thirty seconds. Scott shrugged and turned back to his laundry.

Stiles opened another browser tab. "Shit. Shit, c'mon, go go go." He stared intently at the screen for another second, then slapped his laptop shut and punched the air. "Yeah! Two minutes left! I win!" He turned around and saw Scott staring at him. "What?" Stiles asked. "I had to get it in before class started. Which I _did_ , thank you very much. Booya!"

"Don't say booya," said Scott.

Stiles looked offended. "I can say booya if I want."

"You can say it," Scott said, "but you sound like an idiot."

"Your mom sounds like an idiot," said Stiles. He spun around in his chair. "A five page paper in three hours, research to final. I so win."

Scott frowned. "It had to be turned in by the beginning of class?"

"Yeah."

"And you had two minutes to spare?"

"Yep."

"So," Scott said, "aren't you going to be late?"

Stiles stared at him for half a second, then bolted so hard the chair fell over.

*

Stiles did his usual skulking around the entrance to the discipline wing until he was sure no one was coming down the hall, then darted over, swiped his card, and ducked inside the door. Made it. Hah. Now as long as the TA hadn't sent a late report from this morning, he was golden. He went straight to room 125 and sat down. "Okay," he said. "Let's do this thing."

Derek looked a little surprised. He eyed Stiles for a second, then set his tablet down. "You're up on all your work. Good job. Any problems?"

"Nope," said Stiles. "Got it together."

"Hit all your classes, good. I got the pictures of your kitchen and bathroom. What about laundry?"

"Scott's doing it all," Stiles said. "He traded so he didn't have to clean the toilet."

Derek's mouth twitched. "That doesn't seem like a fair exchange."

"He thought it was, I guess. I dunno, I'm not gonna question if he'd rather spend two hours washing and folding than five minutes scrubbing out the place where we pee. That's on him."

"Okay, sounds fair." Derek tapped in a note on the tablet.

"Great!" Stiles clapped his hands together. "Good meeting, see you in a week."

"Not yet." Derek's words pulled Stiles back into his seat. Stiles spread his hands in a 'what?' gesture. They were done. Derek had nothing on him; he was free to go.

Derek held still for a second, then asked "What's changed from last week?"

Stiles didn't understand what he was getting at. "I... got my homework done?" he tried. "I did it last week too, though, so I don't know. You tell me."

"You just seem..." Derek was floundering a little, which was interesting. "Different," he finished.

Oh. Not a trick question. Stiles relaxed. "You caught me on a good day," he said. "Took another sip of the potion, hit the three-wheel motion..." He trailed off at Derek's confused expression. It was weirdly like Scott's confused expression. "It was a good day," he said.

Derek didn't look less confused. "Oh come on," said Stiles, "what do you want from me? Okay, I was kind of a dick last week. I'm sorry. It doesn't mean I'm a dick all the time. I've been known to say nice things. On occasion. Like, 'wow, you have pretty eyes.' Should I say that to you? Would you believe I can be nice then?"

It wasn't until Derek's ears flushed pink that Stiles heard himself. "Not that you do. I mean, I don't know if you do. Your eyebrows kind of drown them out, and--" The flush on Derek's ears spread to his neck. "Okay, listen, I think we've long passed the point where I should shut up. Are we done? I think we better be done." Stiles stood up, and Derek stood up with him automatically. "Good talk," said Stiles. "Good meeting, see you next week, keep up the good work." He held out his hand. After a moment, Derek shook it. He was almost smiling.

Stiles paused once he was out of the wing and considered banging his head against the wall, but decided against it. He blathered. It was what he did. If Derek wanted to meet with him every week, he'd have to get used to it. And besides, pretty eyes or not, it was a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I haven't abandoned this fic! I have been kinda blocked, though, and it's taken me this long to get it back in gear. Now I have an outline, a chapter count, and I'm a couple chapters ahead, so I'll be posting about once a week until I get near the end. 
> 
> Twenty-seven chapters. This was supposed to be a fun short thing. Oh well.


	11. Chapter 11

Derek was waiting, and he hated waiting. Every footstep in the hall had him jerking his head up to see who it was. He glared back down at his tablet and jumped from one website to the next, unable to keep his mind on anything he read. Sometimes he thought discipline sessions were almost harder on him than the students. He didn’t remember being this twisted up inside when he was on the other end of things. 

Finally, finally Scott knocked on the doorframe. “Come in,” Derek snapped, harsher than he meant to. Scott looked surprised, and a little nervous. “Close the door,” said Derek, and now Scott looked a lot more nervous.

“Hey,” Scott said when the door had whumped closed, sealing both of them into soundproofed isolation. “Is everything okay?” He took a cautious step forward.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Derek asked. 

Scott looked confused. “Uh. Okay. Um, you got the pics I texted you from when I cleaned out the fridge, right?”

Derek nodded. “And the laundry,” said Scott, “and I didn’t miss any classes this week, and I got a B on the quiz in Poli Sci, and I got my essay for Comp turned in on time, so…” He spread his hands and looked confused. “What?”

There was nothing else to do but suck it up and get it over with. “Did you have fun going out?”

Derek could see the light dawn on Scott’s face, before he got control of himself again. “When?”

“Friday night,” said Derek. “How much did you have to drink before you threw up?”

“I don’t know what--”

“Scott, don’t get yourself in deeper by lying. How much?”

Scott seemed to deflate. “How did you know?”

Derek snorted. “Unlike you, I’m _actually_ old enough to drink legally. I saw you, and I saw you throw up in the alley behind the bar. Do yourself a favor and stay away from the house liquor. It’s a lot worse coming back up.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Scott said. “Now.”

Derek held his hand out. “Give it up.” Scott fumbled for his wallet and handed his fake ID over. Derek inspected it. “Twenty-two. You thought you could pull off twenty-two?”

“It’s worked before,” Scott mumbled, then realized what he’d said. “I mean--”

“I know what you mean,” said Derek, “but it’s not going to work anymore.”

Scott sighed. “Okay. What do I get?”

“Hand,” said Derek as he glanced down at the spreadsheet. “And paddle. You’re going to have a hard time sitting down tomorrow, just so you know.”

Derek got up to get the round leather paddle while Scott unbuckled his belt. “Can I do anything to make it any easier?” asked Scott.

“No.” Derek sat down and set the paddle on the floor beside him. “Come on.” Scott went reluctantly over Derek’s lap, his head down on one side and his legs sprawled out awkwardly on the other. Derek pulled the student’s underwear down further and began.

He wasn’t gentle. Scott didn’t deserve gentle, and Derek figured they both wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. Scott hissed at each slap, and soon he was shifting and squirming under Derek’s hand. Derek paused to pull him back into place. “Hold still. Are you trying to get away from me?”

“No,” Scott grunted. “Ow, Derek, Derek, I’m sorry.”

“You want to tell me why you did it in the first place?” Derek’s voice was loud to be heard over the smack of hand on flesh.

“Just--” Scott growled at a particularly hard swat-- “I mean, come on, how could I not? I’m in-- gah!-- I’m in college. It’s what you’re supposed to do.”

“It’s the exact opposite of what _you’re_ supposed to do,” said Derek, and laid a particularly hard spank right where Scott’s thighs met his ass. Scott kicked his legs out stiff behind him. Derek did it again, and then again. Scott’s grunts became tinged with real pain, but Derek could feel the student’s dick hardening against his thigh. Well, Scott wasn’t the first, and he wouldn’t be the last. The paddle would take care of it, anyway.

“You weren’t supposed to find out-- Ow!” Scott broke off at the first swat. “Oh God, ow, Derek, I get it okay?”

Derek didn’t respond. He had always hated this part, the twisting and kicking and begging. No matter how humiliating it was, he always ended up begging. Suddenly he wanted to give Scott a break, to let him up and warn him not to let it happen again, to have the whole thing be over. He stuffed that feeling down and swung the paddle again, careful of his strength. Not gentle, but always careful.

Scott kept wriggling, and it was all Derek could do to keep him from falling off his lap. “I’m going to double it if you keep doing that,” he warned Scott. “Is that what you want?”

“No,” Scott said, voice at the edge of tears.

“Then behave yourself.”

“Sorry.”

Derek gave Scott a second to still. “Are you going to go drinking again?” he asked, lifting up the paddle and bringing it down square across Scott’s reddened cheeks with each question.

“No.” Those were definitely tears.

“Even if you’re sure I’m not there?” 

“No. I’m sorry.”

“Even if someone else asks you to come?”

“No.”

“Even if they make fun of you?”

“Derek, I’m not going to, I promise. I’m sorry!”

Scott’s butt was hot to the touch. “Okay,” said Derek. “I’m going to believe you, but just to be sure, you’re getting ten more. And I want you to remember this if you’re tempted to go to a bar before you turn twenty-one. Are you going to remember?”

Scott nodded and sniffed. “Uh-huh.”

Derek decided to do the counting himself. He’d already put Scott through a lot. “One. What are you going to do?”

“Not drink.” Derek could smell the tears.

“Two. What’ll you say if someone tries to get you to go out?”

“I’ll say I can’t.”

“Three. What if someone brings a keg into the dorm?”

“I won’t drink any of it, Derek, _please._ ”

“Four.” He waited a second for Scott to settle down. “Do you want me to have to do this again?”

“No.” Scott’s voice cracked.

“Five. Know where you’ll be if I find out you disobeyed me?”

“Back here. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s right. You’ll be back over my knee, and this will seem like nothing compared to what you’ll get then.” It was more to scare Scott than anything else. Derek couldn’t risk going any harder without hurting him more than his human body could recover from easily. From the sound of it, Scott was plenty scared.

Derek finished up the last five and let Scott relax over his lap and cry it out. He left his hand resting on Scott’s lower back. Touch helped, even if Derek didn’t take the pain away. 

Well, maybe he did. A little bit. Enough that Scott could lift himself up and get his pants back on. He handed Scott some tissues, and Scott worked his way through what seemed like half the box. “You can take some time in the breakroom if you want,” Derek offered. 

Scott looked up in surprise, and Derek scowled. He had _been_ in Scott’s place, didn’t Scott remember that? “Or don’t. It’s up to you. But I have another appointment in five minutes, so either leave or go get yourself some water and get cleaned up. Either way, I need you out of here.”

Scott nodded and blew his nose one more time. “Okay. Sorry.”

“Hey,” Derek said as Scott reached for the door. Scott looked back. “Tell Stiles I saw him too.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all-- this chapter is a little harsher than the others. Just so you know.

Stiles shut the door behind him and headed straight for the bench. "I know," he said to the look Derek was undoubtedly giving him, "let's skip the lecture. We both know what's gonna happen." He popped the button on his jeans and skinned them down. He'd gone commando, because what was the point?

He could feel Derek come up behind him, a bulky shadow that never failed to make him feel small, even if they were almost the same height. "Why would we skip the lecture? I'm not letting you off that easily."

Stiles let out a huff of frustration and turned to look over his shoulder. Yeah, Derek looked as pissed off as Scott had said, though to be fair, he looked like that a lot. "Come on, man. I already know what you're going to say. I don't get to break rules, I'm just showing how irresponsible I am, I need to shape up the attitude..." He bent over and reached into the pocket of his jeans. "Fake ID, all yours now. Can we please just do it?"

Derek took the ID but made no other move. Stiles ignored him and settled over the bench. "All ready. Go ahead, lay it on me."

There was silence for what felt like ten minutes before Derek spoke. "What does it take?"

Stiles sighed, ignoring the undercurrent of unease tugging at him. "I don't know, dude. That's your job, not mine."

There was another long pause, then Stiles could hear the cabinet door open. Finally. This was going to hurt like hell, no doubt about that, but the faster they got to it, the faster it would be over and Stiles would be facedown on his bed with a couple icepacks on his butt. He waited for the familiar crack and burn of the strap, but when he felt something thin and hard brush against his flesh, he let out a shriek.

"No, no, _fuck_ no," he yelled, jerking so hard off the bench that his jeans tripped him up and he landed heavily on his hip. He scrabbled away anyway, instinct sending shock waves of adrenaline through his body.

Derek dropped the cane before Stiles could start screaming for help. "What's wrong?" he asked, and it sounded severe, but it came out sounding frightened too.

"Not-- not that," Stiles said. "Strap. Or paddle. We can do those. Not canes."

Derek looked at the cane, lying there on the floor like it wouldn't draw blood if given the chance. "Give me a reason why not."

Stiles could think of a thousand reasons, but they all boiled down to one. "I don't like them."

One of Derek's eyebrows lifted, just a fraction. "I know," Stiles said, "I know what it sounds like, but just, let's not, okay? I know I'm getting punished, I know why, I know I deserve it, but not with that."

Over the lengthening silence, Stiles had time to dearly regret every interaction he'd had with Derek. He shouldn't have been such an asshole, shouldn't have made so many smart-ass remarks, shouldn't have done so many _stupid things_ to get punished for in the first place. Derek looked from him to the cane, then stooped to pick it up. "Then maybe this is what it takes."

"No!" Stiles yelped, then in desperation "I'll go over your knee."

Derek hesitated, and it was long enough to give Stiles an opening. "I don't want that either. It'll be enough. Do that and double the strap, and I promise it'll be enough." He climbed to his feet and kicked off his jeans, because there really was no point by now. He pulled off his shirt too. "Okay, I'm naked now. Sit down, I'll get the strap. I'll bend over. I'll ask for it." He ran his hand through his hair despondently. "Please. Derek, I'm sorry."

Derek moved, and Stiles flinched violently, but it was only to step back and hang the cane back up in the cabinet. Stiles let out all his air in a sigh of relief, steadying himself against the bench. When Derek brought out the paddle and sat in the chair they had never used, Stiles didn't waste a second in going over his lap. "Thank you," he said, his head down by Derek's ankles.

"Let's see if you want to thank me when we're done," said Derek. He passed the paddle down to Stiles. "Hold on to that for now." Stiles clenched it tightly in one hand, keeping the other on the floor for balance.

The first slap almost knocked the breath out of Stiles. Derek's hands were always hard, but the angle made it feel different, like there was more power behind it. Stiles whimpered. The slaps were slow and deliberate, each one left to sink into his bones before the next one hit. He whimpered again, his entire body tensing in anticipation of each blow.

"I guess it would be stupid to ask why you did it," said Derek, punctuating the sentence with a slap that jarred Stiles down to his toes. "You'd probably say the same thing that Scott did."

"Because." Stiles never kept his mouth shut when it was good for him. "Ooof, ow. Because we're in _college_ , man-- agh!"

Derek's hand landed hard on the top of Stiles' cheeks. "Yeah, that's what I thought. This is why you're still in the program. No matter what movies or TV or frats tell you, you're not supposed to spend thousands of dollars on tuition so you can get alcohol poisoning and get your stomach pumped every Saturday night." He began to spank faster, and Stiles' legs began to kick involuntarily.

"You're intelligent, Stiles, but my God, you're fucking dumb," Derek went on. "Do you think this is more or less likely to show your dad you've grown up? You're acting like a fourteen-year-old who breaks rules just to show the people in charge that he can. With as bright as you are, I'd think you'd have figured out by now that that's a losing strategy."

The sharp cracks of Derek's hand on his ass should have drowned out the lecture, but Stiles heard every last word. He wanted to argue, but it was all he could do to keep balanced on Derek's lap without falling over. "I get it," he growled.

Derek stopped for a second. "I really don't think you do," he said. "Okay. Hand it over."

Stiles' stomach lurched, but he held the paddle out behind him and let Derek take it.

"Are you going to apologize?" asked Derek.

Stiles put both hands on the floor to steady himself. "I'm sorry."

"For?"

"For drinking when I wasn't supposed to." Stiles knew Derek knew he wasn't sorry. But you said what you had to say, and you took your punishment, and were just more careful next time.

The paddle tapped Stiles' butt. "If you want me to use this instead of the cane, I'd like a more sincere apology."

Stiles' whole body tightened, and for a moment he felt small, like when his fingers and toes barely reached the floor. It took a second for his breath to come back. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, and his voice sounded as small as he felt.

The paddle smacked into him with a whack that might have been heard across campus. Stiles almost levitated off Derek's lap, but Derek grabbed him around the waist and settled him back down. "Am I getting through now?"

"Yes, sir!" It was like fire concentrated on five square inches of Stiles' rear end. The second swat lit the fire on the other side, and Stiles yelped and tried unsuccessfully to scramble away. Derek's arm was like steel.

"Because you don't seem to pay attention to what I say." Stiles couldn't keep from crying out each time the paddle hit. "Only to what I do. You'd get a lot further--" Stiles almost caught Derek in the ribs with a knee-- "if you'd actually let me help you figure out how to get what you want instead of setting yourself against me every time." Derek repaid him for the knee with a set of blistering spanks that had Stiles howling.

"I'm sorry," Stiles sobbed when Derek stopped to take a breath. "I'm sorry, sir, please, I'm sorry." It wasn't the cane. At least it wasn't that.

"Yeah." Derek sounded almost sad. "You always are, aren't you?" He rested the paddle on Stiles' butt, and Stiles swallowed a whine. "I really wish you were. God."

Stiles lifted his head-- he didn't know what he'd say, but that never stopped him from saying something-- but then the paddle blazed down again, and all he could do was cry out and hold on.

Derek's arm was tireless and unrelenting. Stiles begged for so long that he lost track of what he was saying, or what words were. He'd never been spanked for this long before. He babbled apologies interspersed with promises to do better, words he'd said a hundred times but never meant more than at this moment. He vowed good behavior for a hundred years, offered to wear a shock collar, pleaded for Derek to place him under house arrest, anything that might satisfy his disciplinarian that he'd learned his lesson and would never need it repeated.

The spanking didn't end until Stiles was limp across Derek's knee, crying and clinging to his leg. He wasn't even aware it was over until Derek rested a cool hand on his burning ass, and he flinched. He tried to lift himself up so he could get his pants back on and end this appointment from hell, but Derek pressed him down gently, and Stiles felt too shaky to oppose him. He thought Derek might spank him again for trying to get up, but Derek just rested his hand on Stiles' lower back, stroking now and then to calm him.

Gradually the pain dissipated to where it became bearable. Stiles's sobs subsided into sniffles. Derek's touch was soothing; Stiles pressed his cheek against Derek's knee and hugged his calf without even realizing. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"I know," said Derek. "It's okay. You're okay."

Stiles thought Derek might need to send him on his way and get ready for the next appointment, but Derek showed no rush, and despite the ignominious position Stiles didn’t want to get up now. He felt wrung out but peaceful with Derek’s hand on his back, the fire in his skin burning down to a warmth that was almost pleasurable. He hadn’t felt so calm after a spanking since he’d started college. He took a deep breath, let it out, and then another. “That hurt,” he grumbled.

“Good.”

“You didn’t have to go that hard.”

“Yeah, I did. And I’ll do it again if I have to.” Derek’s hand tapped Stiles gently on the thigh. “Am I going to have to?”

“No.” Stiles pushed up off Derek’s knee, groaning, and this time Derek let him. “Oh God. No. Never again.” He looked around for his clothes, saw them crumpled on the floor, and winced when he bent over to get them. Dressing took a little longer than normal.

When Stiles turned around, Derek had a bottle of water open for him. Stiles took it gratefully and drank it in a few long swallows, then burped and crumpled the bottle in his hand. He looked at Derek, who still loomed, but the murderbrows didn't look so murderous anymore. Underneath the sternness, he was gentle, and most importantly he _hadn't used the cane_. Now his bulk was reassuring, not threatening, and it was that that made Stiles ask impulsively “Can I have a hug?”

Derek looked startled. “You want… sure. Of course you can.” He took a step forward, and Stiles wrapped his arms around him, and let Derek hold him tight. It was professional; Stiles knew disciplinarians were trained to give comfort, but it reminded him of the times his disciplinarian had turned back into his dad. He missed being held by someone he cared about. Even if it was just part of the job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Okay.
> 
> When I posted the last chapter, I had two more in the can. But the response I got made me look at them and realize they didn't add to the story, and they weren't what people wanted to read. I tossed them and changed the outline, and then I got discouraged and mostly stopped writing. I always intended to continue this story; I just had to put it aside for a while. Longer than I expected.
> 
> This is the first time I've posted chapters as I write them, and I don't think the experiment was successful. I hate making people wait for indeterminate periods of time for me to get going. So I'm not going to post again until I have each chapter drafted, if not completely finished. Given that this isn't even halfway done, that will be... quite some time.
> 
> I'm so sorry for the huge delay, and I cherish each and every comment and kudos I get. I just want to do right by everyone who takes the time to read. So this fic is officially on hiatus, and will return someday. I am NOT abandoning it. I am really happy with the story I'm writing, and I want to see it finished.
> 
> I can't really post updates on AO3 on where I am in writing it, but if you're curious, drop me an ask at [thosecombustibleheads.tumblr.com](thosecombustibleheads.tumblr.com) and I'll answer. Thanks again, y'all!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, you guys. No, this still isn't abandoned; I just let it lapse for a while. Everything seemed like so much and I just hid from writing for a while. Yuletide started me back on the road, so let's see how far I get.
> 
> It's important to me to answer all your comments, and I'm sorry I haven't done it before now. I'm about to be without internet for a week, but I'm going to sit down and do it all as soon as I get back. <3 you all!

“I quit,” Derek announced. The door slammed behind him.

“I’m not your boss,” said Cora from the kitchen. “Go tell him.”

Derek knocked his head back against the door. “I quit,” he said louder.

“Laura’s not home, and I don’t care. Do you want some soup?"

He huffed out a breath, but came into the kitchen to see her pouring Campbell’s soup from a saucepan into a bowl. “That’s like three days worth of sodium and fat.”

“And when I want to hear that, I’ll ask you.” She brushed past him on the way to the fridge. “Want cheese on yours?”

“Sure.” Why the fuck not? Might as well fuck up his eating program along with everything else.

Cora sprinkled a handful of cheddar on his clam chowder, then poured the rest of the soup into her own bowl and threw half the bag into it. Derek got a spoon and took a bite. It was hot and salty and the clams were chewy, just like when he was a kid. He took another bite and sighed.

“I’m not going to ask you what’s wrong,” Cora said, “so you can cut that out. If you want to quit your job, go find your boss and quit. Don’t come in here looking like a wet dog and hang all over me.”

“Do you even want to know why?” Derek asked.

“Is it because you’re a wuss?”

Derek glared. 

“I mean it,” said Cora. “I don’t want to be involved in whatever this crisis is that you’ve got going on. Go talk to someone else.”

The door banged open. “Hello?”

“Talk to Isaac,” said Cora, as Isaac swung in around the corner. He looked at Derek. “Talk to me about what?”

“Derek’s having issues,” Cora said. “You deal with it. I have three chapters to read for class in two hours.”

Isaac looked inquisitive as Cora ducked behind him. “What’s going on?”

“I want to quit my job.” Derek sat at the table and plonked down his bowl.

“Okay,” said Isaac. “So quit.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Derek pressed his lips together and breathed harshly through his nose. “Because I can’t, okay? I’m not allowed to quit. But this job, Isaac, Jesus…”

“What happened?” Isaac sat down across from him, blue eyes fixed on Derek’s face.

Derek tried to figure out how to even say it. “It’s not what happened, it’s that I suck at it. I can’t do it. There's this guy--”

“Same guy as before?”

“Yeah, him. One minute he’s doing great, we check everything off the list, no problem. Next minute he’s doing some fucking stupid whatever thing, and he’s either all pissed off like ‘you can’t tell me what to do’ or he’s all apologetic and swearing to be good, and I’m just getting whiplash here, y’know? Like, he’s enjoying fucking with me. Because it’s something different _every time_ and I have no idea how to deal with it.” Derek stared at his bowl, imagining what it would feel like to throw against the wall. He was angry and guilty and confused, and he hated it.

“Well.” Isaac folded his arms on the table and rested his chin on them. “Did you talk to your boss?”

Derek gave him a withering look. “No. I’m not going to go running to him every time someone gives me shit. It’s my job, I’ll handle it.”

“Um, you’re kind of _not_ handling it,” Isaac pointed out. 

Derek eyed the soup bowl threateningly. He took another bite.

“I’m just saying, before you quit, talk to Deaton. He’s a decent guy. Maybe he’ll have some advice.”

“I scared him.” Derek hadn’t meant to say it. He meets Isaac’s eyes. “He was so fucking scared. I got a cane, and he almost pissed himself begging me not to use it. He stripped off, he offered to take double, whatever I wanted, as long as I didn’t use it.”

Isaac stared at him for a long second.

“I didn’t,” said Derek in response to the unasked question. “But… I wanted to.”

There was quiet in the kitchen. Isaac just sat, looking levelly up at him. Derek squeezed his hand into a fist and thumped it on his thigh. “I didn’t do it.”

“Why’d you want to?” Isaac’s voice was calm, but something hid behind the words.

“Because he’s a frustrating asshole. Because he doesn’t seem to get the point of this whole program, because he’s acting like a thirteen-year-old who got loose on the world and won’t stop doing stupid idiotic dangerous shit. Someone has to keep him under control, and nothing I can do works. I think it does, and then he comes back worse than before, and I just want to be done, okay?” Derek’s voice rose as he spoke. Isaac’s knuckles were white, but when he answered he sounded normal.

“Do you think you’re going to hurt him?”

“No!” Derek said, then “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, I could. That’s the whole problem here, isn’t it? I could.”

Isaac nodded. “So, what happens if he does something stupid or dangerous? Is he gonna blow up the chem lab? The admin building? Is he gonna go on a murder spree?”

“Hah. No, nothing like that.” Derek waved a hand. “Well, maybe the chem lab. He’s taking geology, but that doesn’t mean he can’t make things explode. No, just stupid shit like alcohol poisoning or whatever. I caught him throwing up in the alley behind Hal’s.”

“So like doing the same exact thing as every college student ever? Dude, I know you’re a tight-ass sometimes, but come on. Drinking too much and puking isn’t exactly chasing the dragon.”

“It’s not something I can let go, either. Fuck, Isaac. I didn’t put him in this program. It’s not like I’m choosing to beat his ass for the fun of it. It’s my job, and I don’t like it, but I’m doing it, but maybe my doing it isn’t such a great idea. Not if I’m going to lose my shit with him.”

Isaac sat up. “Hey. Derek, hey, you didn’t. You’re not going to. I know you’re freaked out, but you wouldn’t do that.”

“And I mean, he’s human, Isaac. I could kill him if I lost it. Goddammit. Why’d they have to stick me with the stupidest, craziest, most aggravating human on earth? I can deal with the other weres, I can even deal with his human buddy, but not him. I’m gonna snap and kill him, and then I’ll be fucked and he’ll be dead and it’ll be my fault.” Derek’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t want to be that guy. The guy who gets angry and hurts people, I don’t want to be that.”

“You aren’t going to be that guy. Hey. Look at me.” Derek raised his head to look into Isaac’s eyes. “You aren’t going to be that guy,” Isaac said again. “You’d never do that. I know you would never do that.”

“You can’t know that,” Derek mumbled, but Isaac overrode him. “I do know that. If you were that guy, I wouldn’t be sitting here now. I wouldn’t have joined your family, I wouldn’t have lived in your room--”

“Our room.”

“--fine, our room for three years if I thought you were going to snap and take my head off. I have never, ever been worried that you’d hurt me, no matter what I did.” Isaac’s eyes were fixed on him. “Not for a second.”

Something inside Derek’s chest loosened. “Really?”

“Absolutely.” Isaac sat back and his mouth curled up at the corner. “Your mom would have flayed your hide and hung you on the barn door.”

Derek sat there for a second, Isaac smirking at him. They both dissolved into laughter.


	14. Chapter 14

Stiles’ ass burned, chafing against the jeans he’d unwisely worn to his appointment as he climbed the stairs to his hall. He wasn’t limping, but only because he was being careful. The burn went all the way down to his bones, and all he could think about was getting into his room and sitting on a pair of icepacks for the next eleven hours.

The TV was on in the living room when he let himself in. He barely glimpsed the group on the sofa, just mumbled something and opened the door to his room, and--

“Oh God!” he yelped. Kira screamed, and Scott’s head whipped around. “Oh, God,” said Stiles again, “Sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“Get out,” Scott hissed, and Stiles would give half of everything he owned not to be looking at Scott’s naked ass right now.

“Yes! Yes, right, I’m sorry, you guys go ahead and do what you’re doing, I’ll just--” Stiles backed out and closed the door as Scott yelled “Out!”

Stiles was left staring at the door. “Sorry,” said Greenberg. “I tried to say something but you weren’t paying attention.”

“Yeah.” Stiles tore his gaze from the door and shook his head to drive out the scene he’d just walked in on, and the one that was no doubt going on behind that door right now. “God. Don’t ever let me do that again. Greenberg, I’m holding you personally responsible. If that is going on behind my door and you let me go in without warning again, we will have words, my friend. Words.” 

Greenberg looked apologetic, so Stiles decided to forgive him. Magnanimously, he came to sit down beside him, but almost tripped over Jackson’s legs stretched out on the floor. It was a near miss, but he managed to avoid faceplanting by twisting his body and landing on the sofa arm, ass-first. Luckily both Jackson and Greenberg were too focused on the show to see Stiles’ silent howl of pain.

It was a cartoon Stiles had seen a hundred times before, and he curled up carefully in a corner of the old sofa to avoid putting too much pressure on his sore butt, letting his mind drift. It still stung, on top of the bone-deep burning the paddle always left. He was used to the paddle, though; the sheriff had used it for a month straight once when Stiles had stolen his keycard to sneak into the police station and conduct his own investigation of Principal Argent. Stiles was still convinced Argent had been up to no good, but a month of spankings had discouraged him from delving any further. Mostly. He was lucky no one had found out about him sneaking looks at the financial reports the school secretary had left on her desk. 

Greenberg busted out laughing at something that wasn’t even funny. Jackson looked back at Stiles and rolled his eyes. Stiles grinned. Maybe Jackson wasn’t such a dick after all. Or at least maybe he was a dick to everyone, not just Stiles.

God, his butt hurt. Derek was murder with his hand, let alone the paddle. But it hadn’t been the cane. The relief Stiles had felt had been so overwhelming that he hadn’t even minded going over Derek’s knee. The closeness had been… maybe not comfortable exactly, but a little reassuring. The sheriff had always spanked him like that, and he had been safe then. And afterwards, he’d always gotten hugs, forgiveness even without his tearful apologies. 

Stiles was so lost in thought he didn’t hear Greenberg until his suitemate smacked him on the shoulder. “Ow!” he yelped. “Do that again and I will fucking end you, seriously.”

“Popcorn,” said Greenberg again. “Your turn to make it. And you missed the vote; we’re watching Iron Man.”

On the one hand, doing what Greenberg said. On the other, popcorn and Iron Man. It wasn’t much of a contest. Stiles stuck three bags in the microwave, one after the other-- he’d learned from painful experience-- and tossed one to each of them. He hesitated, considering a fourth. “Is Danny coming?”

“He’s at the gym,” said Greenberg. It made sense. Danny had to keep his godlike figure up somehow. Stiles hopped over the couch arm, suppressing a wince, and was about to dive into his popcorn bag when Jackson said “Dude. You have to stop. You’re only embarrassing yourself.”

For a second, Stiles’s insides froze. How could he-- Stiles was so _careful_ , how did Jackson find out? Scott wouldn’t tell. Derek? God, if Derek had said anything, Stiles was going to fucking kill him, disciplinarian or no. He opened his mouth to say something, though he didn’t know what, when Jackson went on. “Lydia’s right, he’s out of your league.” 

The rush of relief made Stiles lightheaded. “Huh? What are you-- I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” 

Jackson just looked at him with a mixture of pity and disgust. Stiles looked to Greenberg for help, but Greenberg gave him a sympathetic shrug. “Danny’s too nice to say anything, but… yeah.”

“He’s, like, NFL, and you’re an after-school soccer program.” Jackson rolled to his feet. He wasn’t any taller than Stiles, but he seemed to take up more space. “It’s embarrassing to have to watch you.”

Stiles had been utterly, utterly wrong about Jackson’s level of dickitude. “Okay, first of all, hang on, those aren’t even the same sport.” _Asshole_ , he added silently.

“Exactly,” Jackson said. 

Humiliation cut through Stiles like a machete. “And second of all, fuck you,” he said. “Both of you. Danny’s my friend. I was just asking if he was going to be here so I knew if I should make more popcorn. You guys are the ones who turned it into this… thing. I was just asking. Fuck it. Go to hell.” He tossed his popcorn at Greenberg and got up, stifling a flinch. “I’m going to the library.”

He ran down the stairwell, tripped, and only saved himself by leaping the last four steps and landing on his hands and knees. Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ He got up and stalked off toward the library, and the comforting coffee and muffin that would await him in the cafe.

He fumed silently all the way there. He had eyes; he didn’t need to be told he wasn’t on a level with actual human Adonis Danny Mahealani, but looks weren’t everything, right? If they were, Stiles would have been in love with Jackson instead of wishing he’d drown at the bottom of the lap pool. 

No, Stiles didn’t have a gorgeous body, or money, and he wasn’t particularly nice to people, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have stuff to offer. He was funny, right? And smart, he knew he was smart. Nothing said a hot guy couldn’t fall for a smart, funny guy. He bet Scott would agree. Not because they were friends, either. Or, well, not _just_ because. Anyone would agree. He bet Derek would agree. 

Did Danny agree, was the thing. Because the thought of Danny being nice while hoping Stiles would go away made Stiles want to dig a hole and bury himself in it. He wasn’t a pathetic loser jerk, or at least he didn’t want to be. Stiles got in line, paid, and huddled into a chair in the corner of the library cafe and picked at his chocolate muffin. His butt still ached, so at least he had that to take his mind off things. Great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look at that, another chapter up in less than a month. Who is this crazy person?


	15. Chapter 15

After an impressive three weeks without a punishment, Derek probably should have expected something to give. He sighed and wondered if this was legitimate forgetfulness, or if Stiles had gone back to flamboyantly disregarding the rules again. This yo-yoing was getting old. _Patience_ , he told himself, _patience and understanding and calm._ He thought of his mother, took a deep breath, and let it out. 

The door banged open. Stiles came through and didn’t even wait for judgment, just stripped his pants off and voluntarily went over Derek’s knee, which surprised the hell out of Derek. His new resolution of patience fell flat when he wasn’t faced with any resistance at all. He shifted to the side to close the door, careful not to dump Stiles off his lap.

“Hi,” Derek said. “I guess we’re not going to discuss what happened this week?”

“No point,” said Stiles. “Just go for it.”

“Tell me what this is for,” he said, wondering how far he could push it before Stiles got his back up again.

“Sheets,” Stiles said from around Derek’s foot. “I swear I thought Scott had changed them. He said it was my turn, which, I didn’t even know we were _taking_ turns, but whatever. Let’s just get it done, okay?”

“I didn’t get a pic of the bathroom or the kitchen either,” Derek said. He had his left hand on Stiles’s lower back, something that had always reassured him when he was in this position with Mom or Laura.

“Really? Because I did the bathroom, swear to God, I do that every week. I’m positive I texted you. Let me up, I’ll get my phone and show you.” Stiles pushed up, but Derek’s hand kept him in position.

“That’s all right,” said Derek. “We’ll take that off the list and you can show me afterwards. Kitchen?”

The resistance went out of Stiles’s body. “Kitchen was Greenberg. I don’t know what the hell he was making, but tomato sauce _everywhere_ , you’d swear someone got killed in there. I figured Scott and I would get nailed for it, but I wasn’t about to clean up Greenberg’s mess. I’d rather get my ass handed to me.”

Huh. Derek wasn’t sure whether to reward Stiles’s newfound openness with another lessening of punishment or to push the point. “Clean means clean,” he said, “no matter who made the mess. Whether or not Greenberg lives in filth isn’t my responsibility; the way you live is.”

Stiles sighed gustily. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just do it. The blood’s all rushing to my head and it feels weird.”

Derek kept his teeth ground tight on the relieved laugh that wanted to come bursting out of him. He pressed his left hand against Stiles’s back and brought his right hand down hard. Stiles let out a tiny grunt but held still.

Derek had never had him so acquiescent. He’d been obedient before sometimes, up on the bench without complaint, but he’d never had Stiles give himself up so fully. Draped over his knee, Derek could feel each tiny gasp, each twist and clench against the sparking pain. He could see Stiles’s cheeks quiver with each slap, watch them turn pink, then rosy, then red under his hand. Unrestrained by jeans at his knees or ankles this time, Stiles squirmed and kicked his legs wide when the spanking got to be too much to bear quietly. Derek held him still enough that he could spank without hitting anything he shouldn’t, but Stiles bucked up and down, drew his knees in and kicked them out, all the while keeping up a running commentary.

“OW okay, ow, God, no, it’s okay, Derek OW, you don’t have to OW, I get it, okay, I get it OW seriously, it’s not OW dammit, Derek!”

Satisfying was the word, Derek decided. Stiles was getting the message, Derek had things under control, and no one was freaking out or throwing tantrums. Maybe Isaac was right, and quitting had been too hasty a decision after all.

And then. He knew it wasn’t unusual; Deaton had warned him it was a common reaction, and even though Derek hadn’t experienced it when he was in the program, more than one guy had popped a boner during Derek’s training. But this was the first time for real. And this was the first time it was Stiles. Derek froze for a second. Stiles panted, and then whimpered “Oh God…”

That unfroze Derek. If he reacted, Stiles would know he knew, and he wasn’t going to let him be humiliated with that on top of everything else. He lay a smack down across Stiles’s ass that stung his own hand, and Stiles yelped. “Keep still,” Derek ordered, and spanked so hard and fast Stiles was howling and kicking like he could fly right off Derek’s lap if he could just move fast enough.

Derek didn’t make it last much longer. Stiles hadn’t done anything too terrible this week, and Derek wouldn’t make him pay that much for what, after all, had been Greenberg’s fault. A few more slaps, and he put Stiles back on his feet, carefully looking up at his face and nowhere else.

Stiles’s face was red, and he rubbed his arm across to dash away all the tears and embarrassment before he turned his back. He grabbed his pants and yanked them on.

“You don’t have to show me your phone,” said Derek. “I’ll trust you this one time. Don’t abuse it, okay?”

“Got it,” said Stiles, voice hoarse from pleading. “I’ll get it to you next week for sure. I gotta go.”

“Right,” said Derek, and watched Stiles race out the door. Well. That was certainly… something. He wondered if Isaac had anticipated that. He wondered if Isaac had ever _experienced_ that. 

Oh God, Derek hoped not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going to get there, guys. Someday. I promise.


	16. Chapter 16

Scott. Scott Scott Scott. He had to find Scott before he lost it, because who did that, who _actually did that_ , Jesus. This had never happened before, even when he was fourteen and was getting inappropriate boners _everywhere_ for the stupidest of reasons. Stiles groaned out loud, and ignored the looks he got from the guys skateboarding past him. He needed Scott. Scott could talk him down when he was freaking out, even when the reason for freaking out was utterly reasonable.

Stiles took off for the dorm. He caught Danny just leaving, and panted out “Hey, have you seen Scott?”

“No, not today.” Danny scrutinized Stiles. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. Totally.” Stiles didn’t have time for stupid questions. “So he’s not in the room?”

“No. But hey, I don’t want to get on your guys’ case, but the fridge is pretty gross--”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, I’ll deal with it later.” Stiles was busy scanning across the south lawn for any sign of Scott. 

“Okay then. Cool. I’ll see you later.” Danny adjusted his backpack and took off. Stiles decided to check the cafe. No Scott, but he grabbed a milkshake just because he was there. Scott wasn’t watching lacrosse practice down at the field, he wasn’t watching TV at the student union. Library, then. Had to be the library.

It was. Scott and Kira were hidden in a corner of the third floor, talking in low voices over Scott’s open textbook. Stiles raced over. “Scott, buddy, we gotta talk--”

“Library,” Scott hissed. Stiles lowered his voice. “Okay, but I _need_ to talk to you, right now.”

“I have a test in two hours. Can it wait?” 

“Really can’t.”

“It’s fine,” said Kira, already loading her backpack up. “I want to grab something to eat before class anyway. Scott, see you afterwards, okay?”

“Okay,” said Scott.

“Scott.”

“Yeah?”

“You have to let go of my hand.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Scott let her go and gave her that goofy smile. She smiled just as goofily, waved, took a couple steps back, waved again, and finally left. God. Finally. Stiles slid into the seat beside Scott, who didn’t look like he was happy at the replacement. “Okay, what’s going on?”

The library probably wasn’t the best place for this, but Stiles couldn’t keep it in anymore. “I just came from seeing Derek.”

Scott nodded. “Okay.”

“And he was doing… what he does. And.” Stiles made a violent gesture that he hoped would explain everything, but Scott just looked confused. “Something _happened._ ”

“Okay. What?”

Stiles hadn’t thought ahead to how he could say it. “Like, something inappropriate. Me, not him,” he added hastily, because Scott looked horrified. “No, he was fine, I don’t think he even noticed. It wasn’t anything I did on purpose. It just happened.”

“Ohhhh. That.”

“Yes!” Stiles knew Scott would understand. “So, like, what am I going to do? If that’s going to happen again, he might see. He might get the wrong idea. At which point I will die. What do I do?”

“Dude.” Scott was smiling again. “Dude, don’t freak out. It’s a normal thing.”

Stiles stopped for a second, just staring at Scott. “What?”

“Yeah. It’s a natural bodily reaction. Lots of guys have that happen.”

“Lots of guys-- how would you know? Did you, with Derek? Did he tell you that?”

Scott looked hesitant, and Stiles’s heart stopped. “Dad? You got a hardon with my _Dad_?” Scott lunged to cover Stiles’s mouth, but Stiles dodged. “Oh my God. Oh my God, oh my God, you didn’t just tell me that. What is wrong with you?”

“It’s a natural bodily reaction!” Scott whispered. “He said it happens all the time!”

“That can’t be true.” That absolutely could not be true, because that would mean like fifty, a hundred, ten thousand guys had gone in through Dad’s office since he joined the force, and every one of them facedown like Stiles had been, and all of them… Stiles’s face burned. He dropped it into his hands. “You. And my dad.”

“Not like that. It’s like-- you know, when you’re in trig or something and you move wrong and you have to sit still for a while. That’s all. Jeez, Stiles, it’s not a huge deal.”

“It’s totally a huge deal,” Stiles said through his hands. 

Scott sighed. “You’re being an idiot. There’s nothing between me and your dad. I can’t believe you just made me say that.”

“Not that.” Stiles lifted his face up. “I mean yeah, that’s gross and I know you wouldn’t do that, but what if I would with Derek?”

Scott looked taken aback. “Derek?”

“I mean, he’s hot. Super-hot, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And, theoretically…” Stiles squirmed on his butt, super-uncomfortable now that he’d calmed down a little. “I mean, even though he’s scary, he’s not _as_ scary as when we first started. Aw, hell. What if I like him?”

“You don’t,” said Scott firmly. “You like Danny. Everyone knows it.”

Stiles dropped his face into his hands again. “Great. Thanks for the reminder that I’m a pathetic loser no matter who I like.”

“God, Stiles. You aren’t a loser. So you got hard with Derek. So what? You said he didn’t even notice.”

“I don’t think he noticed,” Stiles corrected. A sudden horror seized him. “What if he did?”

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose for a second. “If he did, he probably figured that it was the same as when any other guy does it. Not everyone wants him like that. I mean, I don’t want your dad like that, right?”

“Never speak of you and Dad like that again. As far as I’m concerned, you two have never spoken. Never even met.”

“Okay, but the point is that he’s not going to think it’s anything weird. In fact, he’d probably think it was weird if you didn’t once in a while.”

Stiles looked at Scott suspiciously. “Have you?”

“Ugh.” This time Scott dropped his head in his hands. “If I answer you, can this be over?”

“Maybe.”

“Fine then. Yes. I did. Happy now?”

“Maybe.” Stiles was still suspicious. “Do you like him?”

Scott’s longsuffering voice came from between his hands. “No.”

“At all?”

“Not at all. I don’t go that way. If I did, I would’ve let Ben take me to prom.”

Stiles gave Scott a sharp look. “You didn’t tell me he asked you to prom.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Scott said in exasperation. “The point is, no, I don’t like Derek, and you don’t either just because you got a reaction that most guys get. You’re freaking out over nothing. And I have a test soon, and if I get a D like on the last quiz, I’m going to be paying for it. So go away and stop panicking. You’re fine.”

“Ben could’ve asked me to prom.”

“Go!”

Scott’s voice was coming dangerously close to shouting, and people were starting to look, so Stiles went. At least he felt better, except for the thing about Dad, that was never going to be okay. But it helped to know that just because he’d gotten a boner, he wasn’t about to fall at his disciplinarian’s feet and suck his dick. 

Except now he was thinking about sucking Derek’s dick. And getting hard again. _Fuck._ He tried to distract himself, focus on Derek’s murdery face and his gruff taking-no-shit voice. That only made it worse. No, he was not into Derek. Derek was mean and his hands were hard and Stiles always regretted his visits. Except for the times when-- No. Always. Regret. Hate. That was how he felt. 

Not that he hated Derek. Stiles wasn’t unfair. Derek had a job to do, and he did it, and it wasn’t his fault Stiles did the stuff he did and got in trouble. Stiles just didn’t like Derek like that. Scott was right, he liked Danny. Everyone knew that.

Stiles kept Danny’s face firmly fixed in his mind as he ran up the stairs to his room. Danny had gone to class, and Scott was studying, and hallelujah, Greenberg was nowhere in sight when he opend the door. Stiles deserved some Special Stiles Time without anyone watching TV in the living room or crashing around in the kitchen.

Kleenex, check. Lotion, check. Trash can, check. Stiles unbuttoned and unzipped, kicked off his shoes and fell back on his bed. His dick was straining against the confines of his briefs, and he almost came as soon as he pulled it out. He sighed and settled back against his pillow, forced himself to hold still, and pressed two fingers in front of his balls until he was sure he could hold back enough to make this worthwhile.

He closed his eyes and pictured Danny’s face and the long, lean line of his chest. Felt him press up against Stiles and take hold of his dick-- Stiles switched hands to aid in the fantasy-- drag his fingers up and skim the very tip of Stiles’s dick and close over it, slide back down, oh fuck, yes, Stiles slipped down and opened his mouth and Danny’s cock glided in like it belonged there. Stiles could feel the weight of it in his mouth, the warmth and the taste. He slid his tongue out to lick where his lips couldn’t reach, breath rasping in his nose with each stroke of his hand. He grazed the skin with his teeth just a little, just enough to be interesting, and felt Derek shiver. Stiles breathed faster. Danny groaned above him. Stiles stretched his mouth wide and felt the back of Derek’s cock bump against his throat.

_I can do it, I can swallow,_ he promised Danny, _I can take it all down, give it to me._ “Give it to me,” he said out loud. He stopped stroking and cradled his balls in his hand, and the sensation was so intense he almost went out of his head. “Yeah, let me take it, just like that I want all of it.”

_Oh, you’re gonna take it_ said Derek in his head. _You’re gonna suck it so far down--_

_Yeah, I want to, let me swallow it--_

_I’m gonna come right down your throat--_

“Yes,” Stiles hissed, “yeah, do it, do it, do it, oh God, Danny, yeah.” He went back to his dick, his fist squeezed tight around it now, jerking up and down. Behind Stiles’s eyes, Danny’s eyes closed and his head rolled back. Stiles used his other hand to gently press his own balls, his head tilting back as well. He wanted Derek to come in his mouth, and on his face, and on his chest, covering him everywhere, everywhere, oh God yeah, yeah yeah yeah yeah--

“Aaaah,” Stiles groaned, his dick shooting and lights going off behind his eyes. “Oh God. Oh God, yeah, yes, oh yes, so much yes. Yes.” He lay there, spent, unable to do anything but breathe and replay the last few moments of his fantasy. Derek was so amazing.

No. Danny. Danny was so amazing. That was the entire point of this, that Danny was amazing and Stiles wanted to suck his amazing cock. Derek had nothing to do with this. Stiles sat up and wiped himself down, got dressed, and went to look for ice cream.


End file.
